Zombi Music
by Garmonbozia
Summary: 6/15  The zombified alligators and vengeful alien ambassadors aren't the problem, really.  The fact that nobody's talking to anybody, that's a different matter altogether.
1. Chapter 1

New Orleans! Couple of years before the Civil War, one of those times I can never remember nor care whether it's run by the British or French or Spanish and neither can anybody else going about in the mad, glittering whirl of these main streets, all coffee shops and bars and houses of ill-repute, which I shan't go into, in that I won't speak about them in such esteemed company as yourselves. Who could fail to be impressed? Who would not stand in awe of such resplendent grandeur? Who could complain?

"Why do you always take me to these times where I feel like my skirt's too short?"

"Yeah, and I feel really, really underdressed…"

The Ponds, apparently. The Ponds could complain. In fairness, I could be having the Rolling Stones play for the Ponds atop Ayers Rock with an unlikely light show from the aurora borealis going on the sky just now, and they'd want to know where the merchandise stand was. And I understand their reasons, but I am honestly making an effort for them and I would like that to be acknowledged.

"Don't worry, nobody is looking at _you_."

"Oh, thank you, Doctor, that does wonders for how I feel just now."

"Anyway, you both could have changed while we were waiting for Jessica."

"Okay, _what_ about this is Jessica's fault?" Rory cuts in. I breathe deep, ready to give him a list. It strikes me then that this might not be such a wonderful idea, and I hesitate. Pond takes the opportunity to pounce.

"For God's sake, Rory, you're _obsessed_! Seriously, should I be worried? Because she's way too young for you, you know."

"Amy, don't. You're being ridiculous."  
>"<em>Enough<em>!" I snap, and loud enough for them to have to listen to it. I don't quite know what they want from me, or where to go from here, and I'm about to suggest packing it all in and just taking everybody home when Amy speaks up. She looks at the ground when she does, and could be talking to any of us other three.

"I just hate that this is your idea of an apology."

When she lifts her head again it's to look at me. Oh, I could kick myself. Apology. Of course. Humans are just _mad_ about apology, they apologize for everything. Brush past them in the street and they mumble apologies at you. They have wars and then sit around for years apologizing to each other like schoolchildren. _Words_, not actions; how could I lose sight of that?

But no sooner have I begun to process the careful wording necessary to maintain my status and not give too much away and appease them all at the same time, when a man approaches from over Jessica's shoulder. Dressed all in black, with the bones of a crude, childish skeleton chalked out on his suit and his black face painted white and skull-like. There is a glimmer, to the trained eye, at the edges of him, where the illusion meets the real world, that screams perception filter.

"Esteemed visitors," he begins, a rich, thick old Creole voice. And he sweeps off his rather magnificent top hat. It is this sweep which alerts Jessica to his presence and she jumps behind Rory. The Bwa'chech, and that's what he is if I'm not very much mistaken, breaks off in his speech and leans over close to her. "What you scared of, _petite_?" He stops smiling when he sees what's growing out of her arm.

What's she scared of? Tonight? Just about everything.

"My honoured Doctor," he goes on, in the same scraping, toadying voice, "The little _cher_ can't go armed here. The rules of the prefecture don't allow it."

"She can't help it," Rory tells him. The Bwa'chech draws up to full height, not liking the interruption. Amy rolls her eyes and before she can open her mouth and give him something to go with the roll, I step in.

"Perhaps we should clear it at the Embassy?"

"An admirable compromise," the Bwa'chech concedes, and bows. His hat falls off as he leans forward, but he catches it, and twirls it back onto his head as he stands. There is, perhaps, for just a millisecond, the ghost of a smile on Jessica's face. "I shall escort you, my most venerable masters."

He takes off, in long, theatrical steps, leaning right back with his nose pointed up at the sky, guiding himself along with a reaching black cane. Which, were the filter turned off, may well prove to be the desiccated bone of one of the Bwa'chechs many enemies. Bwa'chech, you see, translates as 'dry arms'. One touch and they drain away everything soft and fleshy about a creature. Now, this is New Orleans, so the Bwa'chechs natural nastiness shouldn't be a problem. Nonetheless, I keep myself between him and the Ponds.

"Doctor, what's the _embassy_ he's talking about?" Pond says. Wonderful, I think to myself, good old companion spirit, questioning, forever in search of explanation and knowledge and fun. But she sort of sighed it, which isn't encouraging at all. Like she can't quite be bothered even finding out.

"It's the Multi-Galactic Embassy to Earth. That's why there are so many aliens here, and of all different kinds. This is the one place on Earth where any race might send a peaceable ambassador."

Rory has his thinking face on again. Which means he is about to say something very stupid. I mean, utterly adorable. Yes. That's what I meant. "So… _theoretically_… if there was a _really nice_ Cyberman…"

"Certain species have already been told never to come back."

"Right."

"Wasn't working out with some of them."

"Doctor?"

One is adorable. Two is stupid. "…Yes?"

"I can hear this really terrible humming and I would like to know please if I'm going mad." He's not, though. Amy's suffering too, and Jessica. She's not so much hearing it as feeling it in her back teeth, like heavy bass or a mosquito very close. The sound is generated by the perception filters that mask the Embassy as a crooked, crumbling old house. A lot of the humans in town are aware of their guests, and some of them are heavily involved with the exchange and diplomacy going on. The rest, however, must be kept away. That's what the noise is for.

As soon as the Bwa'chech reaches out and opens the gate, it stops, and the Embassy reveals itself in ornate wrought iron spires, in red brick and creeping ivy and, hovering over the roof, a thousand beautiful beacons of infinite variations, one for every planet represented here.

How do I know all this? How is it that I am familiar with the Earth Embassy? How do I know it's always good for a party? Because it has to accommodate all the species that might ever want to show up. Has to be bigger on the inside. Its transdimensional engineering was one of the last great gifts of the Time Lords. Some of our best mechanics installed the matrix that gathered all the beauty of New Orleans architecture and designed this outer projection, that paved the grand lobby in bottle green marble and picked out the stairwells in gold.

In stained-glass, at the first landing, Earth, surrounded by the beacons of peace that float outside.

Now, the Bwa'chech wants to find the right bureaucrat to cut the red tape on Jessica's unfortunately biological blades. And we promise not to move. Then he leaves, and the Ponds follow me upstairs. They're not even acting scandalized, though. It's no fun if they don't ask what I think I'm doing. I had a really good explanation too, a funny one, that would have made them laugh and broken through another inch or so of the glacier of ice built up between us all, but that would be too easy, wouldn't it? One of them could pretend for a moment to be scandalized and give me that opportunity, for the benefit of all involved, but that would just be too nice altogether.

Sneaking around, gatecrashing, it just doesn't feel right when nobody's talking.

That's why it's actually quite nice to be interrupted this time. Even if it is by one who will so insist upon addressing me as-

"Gallifrey!"

It's how she does things, you see. Working with so many different species, it's the ultimate compliment she can give, to identify somebody so totally with their place of origin. That's why I've never had the heart to ask her not to.

I turn. The one who called me is on the stairwell above us, all hitched-skirts and hobnail boots and her hair caught up turban style around her dark face, and the Silurian a step behind her smiles softly on as she runs down the stairs and to me. "I heard you'd landed!"

"He's got a girl in every century," Amy snipes. To nobody, apparently, since she's still refusing to directly address Rory. But I will not bear such an implication, so I step out of the way before Marie can hug me.

"Amy, Rory, Jessica, allow me to introduce Marie Laveau."

"I…" Rory begins, and he's doing his pointing-and-thinking thing. For one, that means he's struggling, bless his heart. For another, that means this is going to be excruciating. One is adorable, two is stupid, three in front of a friend of mine is excruciating. "I've heard of you, you're the _voodoo_ woman."

Marie, luckily, throws back her head and laughs. "Where'd you pull these two from?"

"Round about two-thousand… ten, isn't it?"

"Eleven," they tell me. In perfect unison of timing and weary, unimpressed tone. This synchronicity does not go down well between them.

"Yeah, I'm a real legend by then," Marie smiles. "Nah, I'm just an errand girl, _mes amis_, no more than that."

"Don't say that!" What's wrong with everyone today? Why can't everybody just be happy and accept what's true and what's great about them? I've missed some cataclysmic cosmic radiation event that sopped up all the gun from the universe. Why is it always up to me? "Marie," I say, with an arm around her shoulders, presenting her to the Ponds and Jessica, "and her partner here, Monsieur LiGrand, are the top enforcers that the LOA _has_."

"Yeah," Amy interrupts. "About that. And I'm really sorry, Mr LiGrand-" Ah. The Silurian. She doesn't know him like I know him. _Why_ do they have to do these things in public? "- I don't mean to cause any offence, but I just need to ask the Doctor a quick question." She turns to me, wide-eyed. What follows is her idea of how to ask something delicately. "On a scale of Vastra to Alaya-" and cutting her eyes at LiGrand.

I sigh and turn to LiGrand. "I'm so sorry. We've had mixed experiences with other Silurians in the past."

"Quite alright," he says. The first time he's spoken. And behind me, even without looking I know that everything about Pond suddenly changes. In that, were her internal framework not supporting her, she might in fact melt into a slimy flesh puddle on the floor. Again. It's that Deep South accent, you know, I've always wanted one. Keep coming up English. English and never bloody ginger… Anyway, LiGrand steps around me, and takes Pond by the limp white hand. "As with any species, we come in good and bad. I can only hope to give you reason to think of me as one of the better sort." And raises the hand to his lips to kiss it. Amy stammers something about being so sorry and so forth and just being sure. She's smiling, though, which is an improvement. Only Rory isn't.

I would like to take him aside and explain to him that this is 186something, that LiGrand is just being a gentleman in the ways of the time, but there are rather too many of us for the hallway.

Delicate game, this, cheering up a pack of humans. It's all or nothing. Much more of a balancing act than I had expected. I share a glance with Marie, and she gets sympathetic to the cause. "Put her down," she smiles, and leads LiGrand away by the arm. "Legba's waiting for us."

"Oh, what for?" Sorry. Can't help myself. I have enough of a mission at hand with the Ponds, I know, but I'm not good with curiosity, you know. Some people it's cigarettes, or gambling, or personal appearance. I'm not good with curiosity. I have a problem, and I have no problem with that.

Marie smiles, sweet and lopsided, and nods at the Ponds and Jessica. "Take them to Chambers. I'll catch up with you."

[A/N – Starting a little early this week, superfriends, due to lots of work and this one being quite long. And I promise it'll be perilous and actionous with lots of derring-do and alligators. Hearts, Sal.]


	2. Chapter 2

In the Ambassadors' Chambers, there is a ball on in honour of the Graceling representative, Erzuli. She has been placed at the top of the room on a throne composed entirely of mirrors and surrounded by mirrors, and there are mirrors everywhere on the walls. The guests have all dressed in the same dark blue and scarlet as her, though none has made themselves more resplendent. Erzuli is stunningly, shiningly, impossibly beautiful.

I'd like to wager she didn't look that way when she first sat down on the throne. If they're holding a ball for a Graceling it's because she can't get the love for herself. Gracelings need the love and adoration of others to survive. The less they get, the more they wither and shrivel, making it harder to get it, thus they wither further, and ultimately die. But of course, you can't let an ambassador die. That's terribly bad form.

So you throw a party. Everybody loves you when you throw a party. When there are long tables of delicacies from four galaxies stretching out along either side of the room, when there are acrobats wearing red and blue and mirrors flashing around the ceiling, when the air heaves with music and incense. And as the night has gone on, Erzuli has gotten the colour back in her cheeks, lost the papery look from her skin, had her hair turn thick and glossy again. Filled out to fit her gown.

In the midst of all this, Rory is nodding and biting in his lip like he's about to complain. "Yeah, now I really feel underdressed."

"Nonsense," I tell him. "We'll say you're from Sparta-7. The fact that you're dressed at all will be a massive compliment. How comfortable are you with Greek, after being Roman?" Thankfully, it's one complaint Pond can't join in with; she's dressed in the right shade of blue, and with her red scarf and hair she fits in beautifully. I'd offer her my arm, in fact, but I've a feeling she wouldn't take it.

Now, I have made some effort here to tell you what a great party it is we've just stumbled into. Be assured, I have managed to give but a fleeting taste. And I know _loads_ of people here. Imagine, if you will, what a wonderful time there is to be had. Why, then, am I not even surprised to find us sitting at one of the side tables, and hardly a word to pass between us.

"Listen," I say, finally beginning that apology. But the Fromian ambassador rolls up to the table. He has such wonderful posture, you know. I only mention it because, should I ever be forced to wear a collar full of water to keep my gills soaked, I would almost certainly fall over with all the slopping and splashing. "Good evening, Agwe," I have to say and, in the interests of intergalactic politeness, "How are the sodium readings?"

"Oh, I must say, a little high. Still, better to be a little dry to begin a party. It gives you the first drink in hand, does it not?" I would point out that alcohol actually dehydrates a body, but I don't wish to start war with Frome and so I laugh instead. And when the Ponds don't, I nudge them, and prompt, 'Isn't he funny?', but nothing happens. "All niceties aside, Doctor, I was wondering if I might the honour of a dance-"

"Well, certainly!" And anything to get me away from these two, maybe if I'm gone they'll talk, yes, God, please, let's dance, how do you _dance_ with that collar on?

I am halfway out of my chair. "-With your most beautiful companion?" I sit back down.

Rory, just a touch too loudly, "She's _my_ beautiful companion, actually."

And Amy, no better than any of them, resists the hand that tries to take hers. Not too difficult; due to his mucus membrane, Agwe slides quite easily away. "Oh, you know, maybe later? I… I've just eaten."

She hasn't, you know. I'm the only one that's eaten. They were both enjoying the grymphora too, until they asked me where it came from. Honestly, it makes no difference to the flavour if it used to be the gizzard stone of an alien antelope. And Pond has no excuse, she's from Haggisland, and haggis is great.

Agwe very graciously accepts her rebuff. Even bows to her as he leaves.

And I just want the ground to open up. If I believe hard enough, maybe some kind of psychic interface with the matrix of the building will make this possible. Pond is wiping the mucus off on the scarlet tablecloth.

"I'm not enjoying myself," she says quietly.

"Yeah," says Rory. Apparently it doesn't matter that they're agreeing if they're ganging up on me. "These are more _your_ kind of people."

"I'm going back to the Tardis.

"I'll come with you." Her eyes flick up to glare at him. "It might not be safe."

Pond shrugs, wipes her hand one last time, and grabs her jacket as she gets up. I'm letting them go. This is all to the good. He's being protective, she'll react, they'll have some time alone, it'll all be better. I can enjoy myself here, giving them a bit of space, and try and make a bit of progress with-

There are three chairs at this table.

Where's Jessica?

I would ask, I would get up and look, if Pond didn't sit suddenly and abruptly back down. "Actually, changed my mind, Rory. You go on. I'll be right behind you."

"What's the matter with you?" he hisses. He and I both look to the door at the same time. Where Marie, and Monsieur LiGrand, are both just entering. "Oh. No. I'm going nowhere." And he too parks himself in direct opposition to all the good stuff that could have come of their previous plan to storm off and leave me.

In an ideal world, Marie and LiGrand would make everything better, bring life to the party, help heal the rift. That's not going to happen, is it? I mean, I'm trying to be optimistic here, but I just can't see it happening. For one, they don't even look very happy themselves.

"You all don't look like you're having a ball," Marie says, as they drag two chairs up.

"_Tell_ me about it! Marie, dance with me," I say to her. Again, I am halfway out of my seat, and I have her by the hand, when she shakes her head.

"Maybe in a while, _cher_."

It's just one more person not to talk. Well, no, technically, she's replaced Amy, who is now talking, but almost exclusively to LiGrand. Rory's not really coping. Nothing's happened yet, but something's going to.

Thankfully, a fat toothless hag sways by the table, swinging her rich velvet gown. It's been pulled too tight, presumably to contain some of her endless girth, but she just bulges out of it all over. I nudge Amy's ankle under the table, because I know what's coming, and she stands to learn a valuable lesson from this.

The hag, whose name is Brigitte and who represents the entire Graimbali people, leans right down to LiGrand, wiggling her massive shoulders so that everything below swings a pendulous half-second out of time, and asks him to dance. He accepts, most graciously, as though deeply honoured by the invitation, and escorts her to the floor.

Rory, under his breath, laughs meanly. Very quietly, I say back, "If it happens to you, you'd better do the same."

Amy is doing her little meerkat-head bit, looking between us. Marie begins to explain and the head settles at her. "The Silurians were exiled from New Orleans a _long_ time ago. LiGrand's only here on the good grace of the Ambassadors. God knows we had to fight for even that. And Brigitte is one you really don't want to annoy."

"Speaking of," I mumble in warning, "here comes that Bwa'chech again."

Probably looking for Jessica, actually and as a matter of fact, where _is_ she? Surely not dancing, but I look anyway.

As it turns out though, this is a different Bwa'chech. They just dress them all in that same costume, and this one isn't here for me, but for Marie.

"Most venerable keeper of the peace," he begins.

"Stow it," she tells him. "What's the message?"

He snarls at being cut-off and jerks a thumb over his shoulder, at that great glitter ball of a throne at the top of the room. "Erzuli wants you."

Marie groans, but starts to get up. Actually, she grabs me by the jacket to take with her, and what with the prevailing mood the way it is, I know better than to question her. The Bwa'chech lingers by the table. Behind us, I hear Pond, "Are you going to ask me to dance?" Whatever answer she gets it, it ends with, "Doctor! I'm coming with you." Which of course means Rory's coming too. That's quite nice, I suppose.

The Ponds wait by the side of the top table. I am not offered that luxury, in that Marie would drag me if I didn't walk. "I need a distraction," she hisses to me. "She hates me. I need a man about for this, and LiGrand's busy."

Bloody right he is. The band is playing a tango and Brigitte wants the proper romantic lean-back. LiGrand moves with the grace of cranes just missing each other on a construction site.

Erzuli is deep in conversation when we approach. Bear in mind, the only things around her are mirrors. We have to wait for her to finish before she can pretend to notice Marie afresh.

"Ah, Mam'selle Laveau!"

"…It's Madame." You know from how she says it that this happens every time. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"Patience, child! It's not every day I send for a scrap of a human like you and it comes with a Time Lord." That would be me, wouldn't it? She leans up out of her throne and starts stroking one of my lapels.

"Charmed," I try, "I'm sure. Am, however, just a tiny bit, married, so if you don't mind-"

"Don't let that worry you," she smiles. Such a stunning smile, such white teeth and full dark lips. I keep reminding myself what she looks like as soon as people forget about her. That gets me through while she's twiddling her fingers in front of me, three of them glittering with enormous rubies and sapphires and diamonds, "So am I!"

Marie, by some sneaky little move, has put herself behind me. She reaches over one shoulder to straighten my bowtie, distracting Erzuli in that direction, while saying over the other side, "All due respect, Erzuli, but I have work to do tonight, so if we could just-"

They're talking. About whatever Marie's working on. In the name of future adventures, I should probably be listening. I am, however, more desperately than ever trying to connect with the soul of this place. We gave them all this space, the least it can do is what I tell it to and swallow me somewhere into its depths.

This was such a bad idea. Who decided we should come here? I'm going to kill him, whoever he was, when I get my hands on him. He'll be dealt with. There'll be consequences.

Like there probably will be for Pond, who is a faraway buzzing in my right ear, telling somebody else she can't be bothered to dance. And being just that blunt about it too.

Like there probably will be when a booming voice from the top table demands, "And who is that, that spies from corners, and who do they think that they are?"

Like there probably will be for me, from Marie, when I stop her fiddling my hair down for Erzuli to look at and slide out from under her arm. "I'm… just going to pop off and deal with that. I'll come back!"

I'm not going back. Marie knows that when she calls after me, through her gritted teeth, but she's alone with Erzuli now.

The booming voice belongs to the Baron, the Ghede ambassador, and a man who can get rather fierce when he's given reason to do so. He's out of his seat now, dragging the person who spies from corners out in front of him by the throat. Jessica. I knew that because it had to be, because everything else has already gone wrong, hasn't it? I put myself between the two of them, prise his hand from her throat and set her down behind me.

"Baron!" I greet him, and bow. This brings me level with his knees. Baron is huge, and crammed into a black tuxedo with blue and scarlet details, wearing tiny black glasses on his painted face. The Bwa'chech, I can only assume, answer to him, for they are painted exactly the same way; white, except for black around the eyes. "_Cher_ Baron, how do you do? You remember me, don't you? I'm the Doctor, we met and you tried to kill me with a hat, but it's alright, I forgive you. And this is Jessica!" I prise her off the back of my jacket and ease her around in front of me. "I assure you, she means no harm. Just not very used to these kinds of events and _oh_, it's your _face_, of _course_!"

In the echo of my words, I hear how that might be taken the wrong way.

The Baron bends his knees to come level with me. He seems to be trying to get to Jessica, however.

"No, Jessica here used to wear a certain mask until just a little while ago, patterned rather closely to your face. This is very probably all that's caught her interest. We'll be leaving now, get out of your hair, let you get back to your party, come along, Jessica." I hustle her away and he grabs her back with one huge dark finger.

"What did a pretty face like that wear a mask for?" His voice rumbles; from Jessica's expression, I know she feels it in her chest. "Ah, to hide all the broken bits underneath it, that's why. Well," his chuckle rolls up through my feet, "I'm no daddy of yours, _petite_. But you call ol' Baron Uncle if you please. He keeps his big ol' eye on you."

She shudders back into me when he lifts up his glasses to show her the eyeless pits beyond. I don't know what she sees there. Nobody knows what anybody else sees in a Ghede's eyes, and nobody can ever describe it. His laugh shakes the rafters, over the music, over the voices and laughter of others. And because he is an ambassador, everybody who isn't laughs back. In the ensuing gale, I grab the Ponds, Marie grabs LiGrand from beneath Brigitte, and we escape, down the green marble corridors, away from that place, back into the relative sanity of New Orleans.


	3. Chapter 3

"Let's never go to a party he picks again."

"Agreed." Again, if they're ganging up on me, talking to each other is fine. "And if you ever suspect something is meant to be an apology again-"

"Oh, agreed twice. I mean, that's how you ended up hugging a crocodile."

"Did I?"

"Mmhm. And he got punched by Humphrey Bogart."

"Well I remember _that_, that was _hilarious_. Doctor! Doctor, let's get out of here. Let's go and pinch Lauren Bacall and see what happens."

All of this is being called, playground style, from the park railings behind me. In front of me, Marie is standing with her arms folded. "You left me with her."

"The Baron was going to crush Jessica in his fist, what did you want me t-"

"You _left_ me with her."

It's just not a good night to be me, you know. It's a terrible night to be me. I'm starting to genuinely consider Rory's suggestion as regards what to do next. Let's just go and try something else entirely. The thing is, I did want to talk to Marie about something rather important. Now might not be the time to bring it up, though.

_Right_! Optimism! That's what I was doing tonight, wasn't it? Optimism, right, what's optimistic, what's going all good and swimmingly and lovely? The Ponds are talking to each other, that's good. Jessica may or may not have the blessing of the Ghede people, that would be good. Nobody's tried to kill me yet, which puts me one up on the average Tuesday.

Life is beautiful, alright? Stop questioning it.

And yet, I am moments from snapping, and telling them all just what exactly I think of them. Because when you think about it, none of this, not one particle of it, would have happened if I hadn't left River behind at Alpha Centauri. And I'm not sure how comfortable I am with being attacked from every angle over something which I was never happy with myself, but I did it, because it had to be done. That's the difference between me and them; I know where the line is when it comes to personal involvement, and it wouldn't kill them to show a little appreciation for that when I myself am already, a little bit, just enough to matter, hurt.

I don't get a chance to snap.

A little orb about the size of a baseball pelts down out of the sky, too fast to do anything about. Pond yelps and, in her moment of weakness and need, jumps into Mr Pond's arms. LiGrand, however, reaches out and catches it on one clawed hand, tosses it back and forth to cool and passes it to Marie.

The orb is made of the same ornate wrought iron as the Embassy gates and balconies, and opens to let her get the note out from inside. She reads, LiGrand reads over her shoulder, and they both turn to run.

It's instinct more than anything that sends me running after them. If people are running away from a place it's generally a good idea to do the same, just in case they know something you don't about the aforementioned place. The Ponds too, in their time with me, have accumulated this instinct and follow. Jessica goes where the rest of us go. "What's going on?" I shout up to Marie.

"There's been another one!"

"Another what?"

"You _fou_, Doctor? You were standing right there!" Yes but I was… long story, and I don't have the breath to tell it.

"The Ponds weren't!"

"A kidnapping! Another kidnapping." And then she lowers her head to keep her breath and just run.

Where the long run takes us is the city end of a bridge that stretches out into swampland. There is a man there, slumped against the pillar, muddy to the hips and with dirt and long fingernail scratches on his face.

Rory, as ever, reverts instantly to carer-mode and falls next to him, checking for a concussion or whatever it is that nurses do in these situations. He's peering into the eyes, which is something to do with concussions, I think.

He is not helped by Marie, on the other side of the man, pelting out questions. "Where have you been?"

"I… I don't know," he croaks. "I don't remember."

"You take a girl with you to I Don't Know?"

"I… I…"  
>"You-you-you don't know. You forget," she sighs, standing up and away from him, nodding slowly. Looks over at LiGrand and tells him, "We need to be waiting for the next one. We're not getting to them quickly enough."<p>

Amy asks LiGrand what's going on. Because I'm already supposed to know, I turn away in order to listen. It also lets me watch Jessica, who has joined Rory by the muddied and muddled man. Either she's just following Rory, who she knows to be on side and protective, or she is, as I suspect she may be, sniffing for something. Which is new. New, or the mask used to cover it up.

"This is the third. Women disappear, and a couple of hours later we find these men. No idea where they've been or what they've done, completely unrelated, no history of crime or violence. Just men."

"And, what, it's aliens behind it all? That's why you and Marie are involved?" I used to think that was a Scottish thing. Subsequent experience has taught me otherwise, and that is purely human to say things with no thought whatever for what they sound like to the other side. 'It's aliens?' My God, have I taught her nothing?

"Where were the other men found?" I ask.

"Not far from here. One along Joya Street and one back near the park."

"And what's Marie sprinkling on this one?"

She is, too. Something green from a little pouch. She has a great number of these lotions and potions and she's very good with them. It's the way of her people, though she never would tell me what she is.

"Acidified permanganate," she says. "Just checking this one ain't a drunk."

"We nearly did that the first night."

"Louder, LiGrand, I don't know if Legba heard."

While all of this is going on, Jessica gets up and comes shyly over to me. Still wary of showing me her face, she makes her usual mime for writing. Since this is as much communication as we've had since I accidentally stabbed her in the stomach, I gladly hand her my little notebook and marker.

"Him was with girlperson," she writes quickly.

"What makes you say that?"

She stands poised with the marker again, but that's all. Nothing happens, nothing is written. I try to peer around her hair without scaring her; behind she is thinking very hard about something that gives her great difficulty. Then she turns to Amy. First she raises both her hands to show surrender, peace, and keeps one up when the other dips into Amy's jacket pocket. It comes out with a small bottle of perfume. She taps her nose and very swiftly returns the bottle to Amy.

I write down the word 'perfume' for her, and tell Marie what I've just been told.

"_Smelled_ it?" she balks, "Over bayou mud?"

"I wouldn't ask, Marie, it's a long and harrowing story how she got so good at things like this."

Marie sighs. "Fine. LiGrand, you get this gent back on his feet and home, please?"

He bows his head to her and goes to the baffled culprit, slipping one arm under his and dragging him up. "And you, darling?" to Marie, "What are you going to do?"

Marie smiles, gathers Rory back to the rest of us and stands with open arms. "I am _finally_ going to be the hostess I should have been an hour ago, with our most venerated guests."


	4. Chapter 4

Marie cooks. Well, insofar as she ever cooks. It's a thing called a gumbo, which is to say there is a pot on the fire at her boarding house, and when she has food she throws it in. You can never be sure what you're getting, but it usually tastes alright.

The apparent kidnapper, still without a clue what he's done or how, fell asleep on LiGrand's shoulder on the way back, and is lying slumped in a corner now. Until he wakes up, there's not much they can do. Apparently there are another two in the same condition upstairs somewhere, and both yet to waken. Anyway, seeing how adventure is now firmly afoot, I'm not going anywhere. This seems to be understood from all quarters. Amy and Rory have taken their gumbo off to some private space, probably to skirt around a conversation I can't even think about. LiGrand is endlessly amusing Jessica by producing the same coin, over and over, from behind the same ear. One can only assume she's never had a drunk uncle at Christmas dinner to show her that one.

Which leaves Marie and I.

She's not eating, sitting with one boot up on an empty chair, looking at the fire. Classic stoic distress signals. "What's the matter?"

"This is my town," she sighs. Rolls the cricks from her neck and loosens the wrappings of her hair so the little braids fall down long against her back. "The girls disappearing are human. You know how it is balancing natives and visitors. If they start to think we're taking their girls…"

"You'll solve it," I tell her. "You've solved worse. Remember all those black roosters that time?" She laughs, and then the two of us, in unison and in imitation of the big slow Golem we found in the end, "'I was hungry!'"

"Or the Atraxi in the cathedral!"

"The Eye of God, I remember!" She's laughing now. Still looking towards the fire, but not burning with it anymore. I reach out and pat the back of her hand. "You'll sort it out."

"You were still hanging around with Peri that time… What happened to her?"

"Oh, lots of things…"

She eyes me. "Fine then. Better question; when did you start hanging around with ones that don't even like you? Even you're not that much of a masochist."

"They _do_ like me, they're utterly crackers about me. Nine days in every ten… And what do you mean, 'that much', I'm not a masochist at all!"

"Oh, well now, that _is_ a pity." Half of a still-possibly-sentient prawn flies from my choking throat and into the fire, while she cackles.

"_Marie!_ I'm a married man, now!"

"Yeah, since when? I didn't hear about this, where was my invite?"

"Well, truth be told, it was a bit shotgun for all that…"

"You telling me there's a little Time-Sprog somewhere, _cher Docteur_?"

"…Yes, but not the way you're thinking."

Isn't it funny, that the more uncomfortable I am made in a given situation, the more fun everybody else seems to have? She's giggling now. From staring blankly into the fire to giggling in a matter of minutes. I really am _so_ glad my unease can be so _useful_ to everybody.

"So where is she, then?" Marie grins. "Why don't I get to meet Mrs Time Lord?"

"Ah, well, funny you should mention that, I've been meaning to ask you-"

But then, because I am about to ask something, because something which _I want_, is potentially about to actually _happen_, there is a piercing scream, the kind that even Jessica feels, from one of the other rooms.

Of course there bloody is.

So off we all go, Marie and LiGrand and Jessica and me, tracing this sound, and in one of the boarding house rooms we find two overturned bowls of gumbo and the Ponds. Not strictly 'in' actually, they're on the balcony.

Owls, oddly enough. I don't think it's ever been owls before. Dozens of them, crowding on Amy, all beaks and claws. Rory has a curtain pole, trying to fend them off. Jessica rushes up, unafraid to get still closer and start pulling the flapping little featherballs off Amy's arms and back, but they're everywhere. A definite, focussed attack, uninterested in anyone else. Even if that person should be beating them remorselessly with a curtain pole.

Still, quick blast with the sonic, confuse their sonar, ought to sort them out. I hold it out, tune for pitch, and the owls lose track of what they were supposed to be doing. Some of them flap about in circles, some of them barrel into each other, some forget to flap at all and just fall away. The one Jessica is tugging at goes limp in her hands. Shocked, she drops it.

Meanwhile, Amy's screams fade out by steps into low, ragged sobs. Rory throws down the curtain pole and grabs her into his arms.

Aside from the owl on the balcony floor, the rest are starting to recover. They have decided, however, and sensibly too, to beat a retreat. As the one on the ground starts flapping, LiGrand swoops in and picks it up, holding its wings in. Jessica leans over it, looking up to him and to me.

"Don't worry," I tell her, "You didn't kill it." That pleases her and she goes away to hover near Rory and Amy. Marie, LiGrand and I stand huddled around the owl, and once again I try the sonic, this time to scan it. "Nothing but interference. What's going on?"

"Means it ain't physical," Marie murmurs. "My turn." From the untold depths of all her skirts, she fishes out another of her little pouches. Something purplish this time, and fine as dust. She hands it to me to hold so she has both hands free. Then, with one thumb and forefinger, she holds the owl's right eye open, before running the thumb of her other hand over its surface. She lets go, and the owl blinks off this strange torture. I've never seen an owl bat its eyelashes. It is very possibly the sweetest thing I've ever seen. I am distracted from this, however, by the fact that Marie uses that moisture to pick up a coating of the purple dust and brings it to her mouth.

"Oh, no, Marie, no." I'm sorry, I can't help myself. "That's been in an owl's _eye_!" She mutters for me to shut up, and smears the purple down her tongue. "Oh, that's not nice at all…" Her face concurs, contorting around an apparently rancid taste.

This clears.

"_La Rouge_," Marie says, "_Pieces of La Rouge. Bring me pieces of La Rouge_." Then she runs away with a hand clapped over her mouth, very possibly to throw up in some other room. I wouldn't blame her. That had been in an owl's eye. A big cute eye, no doubt, but an eye nonetheless, and an _owl's_ eye. In her absence, I look to LiGrand for explanation.

"The owls were hexed," he explains. "All their mind and thought taken away from them bar a single command."

"Oh, like programming."

"Without the computer, and without the trace residue programming usually leaves." I try not to think of Jessica hiding behind Rory, and all the things that would still mean, if this were a less optimistic day. "What Marie just extracted was that single command."

"And _La Rouge_ must be Amy. Who'd want pieces of Amy, why would they want pieces of Amy and why on _Earth_ would they use _owls_?"

"Somebody with an interest in hexing _her_." This from Marie, reeling greenly back into the room. She points at me, eyes narrowed. "_You_. You just had to say it, didn't you? I'd just _done_ it, I knew it was an eye, but you had to _say_ it. A hex requires a genetic sample from the intended victim. Somebody sent the owls to tear off a scrap of DNA."

"Who?" I ask. A look I don't like at all passes between Marie and LiGrand. Though they both say to me they don't know, I don't believe either of them. At least not fully. They're keeping something from me.

Only that they tell me we can find out keeps me from questioning this. But I do tell them to hold on a second, because Rory has had rather the monopoly on comforting Pond. I was happy with this before, or pretending to be, but I can't let it lie anymore. I go up and ask to cut in on the hug. Rory gives her up with extreme reluctance, but takes advantage of the free moment; he sends Jessica for a cloth and antiseptic.

Amy is shaking, so I hold onto her very tightly, and tell her softly that it's alright.

"What happened, Doctor?"

"A load of owls freaked out and started pecking you."

"Yes, thank you, I understood that much."

"Just checking. Now we're going to find out where the owls came from. And I really cannot stress enough that everything is going to be alright."

"This is still the worst apology trip ever."

"I know. I'm sorry my sorry hasn't been up to scratch."

She laughs, which is nice to hear. That feels like a step. Then Mr Pond retracts permission and demands her back, and that's alright too.

Meanwhile, the poor, traumatized, hexed and eye-thumbed owl is undergoing one final trial; having its feet dipped in something pungent and bile-yellow with the same consistency as the inside of a glow stick.

"We need to borrow your little friend," Marie calls to me.

"Tell her I'll teach her the coin-trick." With much better timing than the humans have ever had, Jessica slips back into the room just then. She physically recoils, almost all the way back out, away from the smell of that stuff. "Told you so," LiGrand grins to Marie. Jessica misses all of this, walking out around the very edge of the room to stay away from it. Bringing a cloth and basin to Rory like she was told. And she stays on the balcony when she gets there, where the air is fresher.

"It's sulphur," Marie explains. "Human, with a nose like hers, we're lucky she's still on her feet. When we release the owl it should return to the person who hexed it, that's part of the condition. The _petite_ can follow."

My first, instinctive reaction would be a loud resounding 'No'. Not sending Jessica running off by herself across New Orleans after a day-glo owl, no, not a chance, over my charred dead body, no, don't be ridiculous. I'm glad I bite it back, though. Jessica's more than capable and I'm not sure what a reaction like that would do to my standing with the Ponds. I'm a bit shocked, actually, by that reaction. But it doesn't happen. There's maybe just a moment's hesitation before I go to Jessica and explain what we need from her.

She's totally on board and unfazed. Which just makes me think she doesn't understand. "And be careful," I tell her. She nods. "And don't get hurt. And be careful. And don't go _in_ anywhere, just let us know where it goes. And if it goes out to the swamp don't follow it. And be careful." She nods, keeps nodding.

From over my shoulder, Marie interrupts, "Is _papa _quite finished?" The Ponds laugh at that. I say nothing and hold out a hand. Marie places another of the wrought iron orbs into my hand to give to Jessica. "When you get there," she explains, "write down where you are, put it in the ball and throw it up high's you can, sweetheart. It'll find its way to me."

There's a fluttering, and LiGrand hisses. "Critter's getting his crazy back, Marie."

"You good, _cherie_?" she asks Jessica. And one more time, Jessica just nods, and I really would like a moment to explain the risks to her properly, but LiGrand lets go of the owl then, and Jessica takes off after it like a hound with the scent, and it all I can do to call after her again to be careful.

Then, in perfect harmony, which I suppose I should be happy about, the other four voice lift behind me in a single, hurtfully sarcastic, 'Aw'. I haven't the heart to tell them to shut up.


	5. Chapter 5

Last night did not go well.

Jessica is fine, by the way, I'm going to point that out to begin with. No, it was the rest of everything that was wrong.

Twenty minutes after Jessica left, the orb came back. The note inside in her uneven, childish handwriting, 'Before-Building. Am having stars above it." The 'stars', of course, being her mistake for the peace beacons. Over the Embassy. So the owls that were taking pieces of Amy that someone may hex her came from the Ambassadors themselves, or someone amongst them. Marie and LiGrand withdrew after that, and argued in a distant room worse than the Ponds ever had.

Actually, _they_ didn't go wrong. Amy and Rory were much better, when he was daubing at all her little scratches, checking her over for shock. It's true, you know, they like a man on his knees, even if it's only because he's checking over the defence wounds on her hands and forearms.

Jessica came back fine. She didn't go wrong either, now that I think about it. Came back with an orchid tucked behind her ear and said the skullperson gave it to her, but other than that, no cause for concern.

So in conclusion, re: my immediate entourage, last night was actually alright. No, it's just in terms of Marie and LiGrand, and also the overall situation in general, that everything went to hell in a handbasket.

And that's lasted all day. _Hours_, you know. _Waiting_. Until one of those former kidnappers comes out of his coma, there's nothing Marie can learn from them. And I was wrong, and silly, and bad Doctor, to suggest that we go and ask at the Embassy about those bloody owls. I'm not sure why that was wrong and silly and bad Doctor, but Marie was very serious about it, and I believe her.

About seven, because they're getting bored, I give Amy and Rory the psychic paper and send them to a restaurant I once visited at two in the morning in order to remove the somewhat-inebriated Peri back to her own time. They'll like it and if it comes to it, I'm happy to do the same again. They're only twenty-…_something_, once. My God, I should know that, shouldn't I? Let's see, she was seven, and then there were twelve years, and then there were two years, and it's been about… what, eighteen months? I should know that…

About seven-thirty, Marie too gets bored. Comes and gets me by the jacket again.

"Hello, nice to see you again, where are we going?"

"Back to the bayou. It's happening every night, that man at the bridge was the closest we've seen so far."

"Alright, then. And Jessica?"

"LiGrand's teaching her card tricks, they'll be fine."

It must something about women who brook no argument. Something about not being given an option, maybe. I wonder sometimes if I should worry about myself.

Our patrol must look to all the outside world like a friendly stroll around the quarter. We're looking for kidnappers though. So is everybody else. The men of the city are out protecting their own, and the women are all behind windows or gates, or husbands and brothers. Noticing this, I laugh.

"What?"

"Everybody thinks I'm your bodyguard."

She throws back her head and laughs. I'm not sure I'm quite happy about the scale of the reaction, or how long it goes on. She sees me watching, thinking that, and hooks her arm through mine. "_You_ didn't come here to help me, _cher_."

This is the opportunity I've been waiting for. Again. I'm loath to try and take it because something will probably happen, but then again I don't know if it's going to come around again. And she's offering now. Marie sees things. She knows where you're coming from, understands the pain you bring with you. If she sits down and thinks about it she can look ahead down the road you're already on, but I won't ask her for that just now.

"You only come here when you're losing it," she tells me, outright. "When you don't know if you're doing the right thing anymore. It's okay to burn out every couple-hundred years, honey, that's natural."

"I don't mean to _use_ you-"

"It's okay. S'what I'm here for. I'ma go on ahead and start. You worry about Jessica, because you feel like you mistreated her in the beginning. Well, you did. But she doesn't blame and neither would anybody who knew the facts. And she's going to be fine."

I'm glad she started with that. That's a question I could never have asked, something I could never have reflected on and formulated and put to her. But now that it's out I feel it fall away from me like Hercules taking the earth from Atlas. "And you're not just saying that?"

"You know your problem, _fou_? You're so arrogant. I don't like you enough to lie to you. So where was I? Jessica. Yeah, she'll be fine. Your wife'll be fine too. I don't know her name, by the way."

No, because I haven't wanted to say it. Like she'll hear it, wherever she is in space and time, and think I'm talking about her. I don't want to talk about her if she isn't here. So I say it quietly, and respectfully, and I hope she gets that part of the message. "River."

"I'm not going to poke and pry about what you did to her, but you're telling me in your heart you did the right thing. You need to know anymore than that? As to Amy and Rory, come the time, they'll understand."

'Come the time'. I keep hearing that. Usually from River, actually. This is what I was worried about, you know, talking about her. She's talking back. I kicked her out and still she finds a way. 'Come the time, my love', I can all but _hear_ her. Which _reminds_ me, and leads me to something that I cannot help but ask-

Except there are cries from streets away. A mumble running through the crowd about 'another one', about 'two of them'.

Told you so. _Every time_.


	6. Chapter 6

With the whisper running down the street about there being two of them, Marie had panicked that the kidnappings had stepped up a gear. Four is already too many for her. And for Legba. Haven't met him yet, hope I never do.

I say haven't met him yet. I mean _on this trip_. On previous trips we have met that is why I hope we do not meet on this trip. I'll tell you about Legba some other time when I can bear thinking about it. Or when it becomes absolutely necessary, whichever comes first.

There is good news and there is bad news.

Good news, there's only been one kidnapping.

Bad news, we don't know who did it.

There are two men, standing at the end of the bridge. The mob is gathering and there isn't really time to stand in discussion. Neither of the suspects, however, is exactly forthcoming. They just sort of stand there. Saying nothing. Face to face and swaying at each other. I think I'm having flashbacks.

Long, long _hours_ upon _hours_ and nobody talking to each other. Oh God, I can hear the hairdryer.

"Doctor?"  
>"Marie! Yes! I'm here, I'm perfectly fine, not suffering the harrowing of my soul at all, what can I do for you?"<p>

"Any thoughts? Before the torches and pitchforks get here."

Oh, she just wants me to do some deduction. That's alright, I can manage that.

Well, of the two suspects, one matches the one we found last night. He's filthy, stinks of swamp mud and is steadily becoming less and less responsive. If one were a detective, one might automatically conclude that this is our man. This is the one to take.

But then, _tonight's_ kidnapper had to come from somewhere. The other one is clean and well-presented, barring one muddy handprint on his shoulder. I look at Marie and she's thinking the same thing.

The only question remaining then is how we get them out of here and back to the boarding house. Bear in mind that we're not so ahead of the game as we were last night. It's not so much that the mob is on its ways as that it's sort of slightly forming around us, much like the accumulation of silt and silica in a pearl. Except that pearls are lovely and mobs aren't.

"Tell me you've got a bit of voodoo you can do."

"Can't you talk to them?"

Yes, very probably, I suppose. If I must. But she did just call me arrogant not three minutes ago, so I have to be careful how I approach this one. "Well, I'm _good_, Marie, but I'm not-"

"No, I mean I need a minute or two. For the voodoo."

Oh. I'm not ashamed, I'll tell you my heart goes out of it when she says that. It's not nice when somebody doesn't believe in you the way you thought they did. Makes everything just that little bit lacklustre. Still, I'm here to help, aren't I? That's what this whole trip was for, was for _helping_ everybody. So I straighten my jacket and tie and step away, giving her a good foot distance from the crowd. I patrol the circumference to make sure it stays that way. Take a deep breath, summon some enthusiasm, and begin.

"Wait! Now, I know you're all very angry. And let me tell you, if somebody was stealing people from me, and they've tried it in the past, I would be very angry too. But let's take a second to examine the facts, shall we? Did any of you actually _see_ either of these men with the woman in question? As a matter of fact, does anybody here know who the specific woman in question is, today? How do you know they're not just… having a staring contest?"

"Not your finest oratory, Doctor."

"Is there a reason you're in my ear, Marie, and not ministering to those two possible culprits and future victims?"

There's a tug and a tuft of hair is forcibly taken from the back of my head. "DNA link. Sorry, please continue."

I lift my voice to crowd levels again, and go for a quick scoot around the edge of the circle. Feels a bit smaller than before I was interrupted, which is disheartening. Unless it means they're crowding closer in order to listen to me, but that seems doubtful.

"Well, no, maybe not a staring contest. But then again, why not? Or something _equally_ ridiculous! This is the most fun town in the whole world, and it will be, for at least another…" Some quick mathematics, "Hundred and fifty years! Fights have started over less and been settled less peaceably. You, as people, as individuals, not as a raging singular mass of unthinking hoodlums, but as normal law-abiding citizens, have _nothing_ against the two men here before you. That you know of. For sure. Let he who can bring me proof cast the first stone, that's what I say!"

Marie's voice at my side again. "And before you say _anything_ else, _cher_, and I do mean anything, swallow this?" She holds a paper of something that smells and is colourful and probably has my hair in it somewhere up under my nose.

"What is it?"  
>"Remember when I was fine with the purple stuff and it was only the fact that you mentioned the owl's eye that screwed it up for me?"<p>

"Yes."  
>"Swallow this before you talk to them again."<p>

So I take the paper from her, hold my nose and tip it back. Why do people hold their noses? It does nothing. Nothing, I tell you. It's all bitter, like apple popping candy, only not sweet, and it makes my teeth go all funny and, "Why? Why would you _mention_ the owl's eye!"

"Because you did, you _rat_! Now talk to them. Doesn't even matter what you say anymore, thank _God_!"

"…Doesn't matter, does it?" Right then. I think I just got my groove back on this one. "You're all _idiots_! Have you noticed that? First sign of anything remotely horrible and you all band together, and start hating things, and sending for pitchforks. Honestly, everything that is wrong with humankind, I see before me now. Hopeless, all of you. I don't know why I bother with this planet, I really don't."

"You can stop now," Marie says.

So I can. They're not listening anymore. As it goes, they're not really aware of our presence anymore, or no more so than they would be of any other group of people on the street.

"How did you _do_ that?"

"Voodoo." I look round at her. She seems perfectly frank, until the slow, easy smile spreads across her face. "You actually believed that. That makes my day. No, I'm kidding. It's a mild targeted psychotropic, atomised and dispersed when you breathed it out. They're under the illusion that nothing is wrong in the world and nothing could be. It takes a while to work its way around."

"Sounds nice. Why didn't it work on me?"

"Don't say things like that, you'll get me all choked. Anyhow, I need you to lead this guy."

She's given me the clean one. The muddy, nearly-sleeping one, is swaying gently behind her. Whatever we do, they imitate. When, for instance, I look around at mine, he looks around at an invisible man behind him.

"Oh, that's clever. Oh, that's some kind of chemically induced psychic link."

"And it'll wear off when the chemical does, so… Doctor, stop that, we're trying to _deflect_ attention."

I'm not listening. I am determinedly not listening to that, because you do not give a man a human puppet that copies his every move and not expect him to dance. I'm sorry, but Marie should have been prepared for this. I'm going to need at least five minutes with this before we can get anything done. Things haven't been going exactly as I hoped on this trip; while there is a moment's fun to be had, one must take it. One never knows when the chance will come around again.

Also, I never knew until this moment how wonderful I look from behind when I do the Running Man. I have to remember that. That could be important, someday.


	7. Chapter 7

Marie is exploring new avenues as regards awakening the sleeping former zombies. LiGrand is exploring new avenues as regards the one that hasn't strictly done anything yet.

As it was put to me, "You like the moral high ground, _cher_?" Yes. Yes I do. It's warm and sunny up here and I can see for miles and miles, and am master of all of these domains. "Then be else-places for this part, 'k?

In part it's very patronizing, to be sent from the room like a child at watershed time. In part it's kind of Marie to think of me. She knows I don't always approve of her methodology. It involves rather too much drawing of blood, and she can get a bit shouty with her suspects. It is, however, one thing I know I'm never going to be able to do anything about. God knows I've tried in the past. Asked nicely and otherwise and tried to show her other ways, but Marie's got her own methods.

As it was put to me, "This is my town. And I'll protect it, but I'll protect it how I please."

So, regretfully, I must choose my battles on this one.

Ultimately, I decide to look in on Amy and Rory. Please don't mistake me; I understand that they are probably at a very delicate moment in the bandaging of yesterday's damages, and I appreciate the need for privacy. I said _look in on them_. I don't intend to crash. It's just I have to get away from the boarding house and I know if I just ramble I'll end up at the Embassy and probably ask questions and get Marie in trouble. Repercussions, consequences, etcetera, trip purpose defeated. Bad idea.

Thus, to the little restaurant on the Rue St Jacques. I slip up the outside stairs, careful not to make too much noise, then wonder why I bother sneaking anywhere.

When I take the time and make the effort to sneak, something noisy inevitably goes on. These are the rules of my life. To hell with all the other rules and rule seven and rule one-hundred-and-forty-nine, to hell with them all! There is but one rule; what the Doctor shall strive for, the universe shall not allow. Now I know technically, _technically_, that's the same thing as Sod's Law, which is the same thing as Murphy's Law (because it's a big job, you see, they've split the workload, Sod and Murphy), but this is a specific, targeted branch aimed at _me_ and my happiness, and thus the general happiness of countless worlds that I could helping. And it's not fair

…Where was I?

Oh, yes, Pond's being attacked again.

Mr Pond nowhere to be seen, presumably off looking for a curtain pole.

Not owls this time either. That would be silly, indoors.

No, in the small upper room I took the time to reserve for them, stepping over her overturned chair to back Amy into the corner, are three more Bwa'Chech, in the same black suits and top hats.

"No, but we're okay," she's trying to tell them, "We're here with the Doctor; he cleared us last night."

When they keep edging closer, she fumbles the psychic paper out of her pocket and tries that, but they're not even interested. They know what she is, see, and what they want with her. The psychic only works if they need an explanation.

"Most honourable La Rouge," one of them smiles, starting in to doff his hat. "Calm yourself. We are but your lowly servants. This won't hurt a bit."

Then he moves to bow, and Pond, with truly champion power and speed, bundles her hands up together and brings them down hard on the back of his neck.

This, of course, is technically physical contact with a Bwa'chech; she cries out when the skin of her hands shrivels and dies. And I take that to be my cue. It's also taken me this long to work the wooden window latch from the outside, and it's only now that I can get the sash up and let myself in. "Gentlemen! And I know you're gentlemen, because you're all wearing hats. I believe what Mrs Pond would like to know, aside from the best nearby stockist of a good moisturiser, is what exactly you _gentlemen_ are after."

"No, mostly I just want them to go away."

"A token," says the one that spoke before. The bow-y scrape-y one with all the teeth. Both Pond and I are keenly aware that the other two are still slipping towards her. "That's all."

"Ah. A favour," I elaborate for him, "from the lady." And I start to do a bit of slipping myself, trying to move faster than them to get across the room and help her. Backing closer and closer to the wall, Amy is hissing my name, needing my help. And I'm thinking, I really am. Thinking, and something will present itself. "Not unreasonable, really, with a fair lady such as our own Mrs Pond, isn't that right, Mrs Pond?"  
>"<em>You're not helping<em>!"

"A handkerchief, I believe, is the standard. This era, this planet, yeah, that's about right. Pond, give them your handkerchief."

Bless her heart, she actually pats herself down to check, and then says, "I don't have one!"

"There you go, gents, the lady can't help you, now off you pop." Of course, nothing happens. The talkative one that Amy hurt, he keeps grinning at me. The other two are getting very near Amy now, and from opposite directions. There's no way she can even run without having to shove one of them. It's no problem, so long as she hits their clothes, but she's scared after the last one. "Well, now, that _is_ rude. Who's your boss, Bwa'chech, who sent you? I wish to report this behaviour."

"Somebody who wants us to return with a favour, sir. A lock of hair, perhaps." He snaps his fingers.

The other two, by sleight of hand, come up with little switchblade knives, and Amy screams for me. Changes her mind when the main door opens and suddenly calls for Rory instead. "Where have you been?" she rages, and I hope it doesn't drown out me telling him not to touch their skin.

What happens next happens quickly. The injured one removes his gloves and lunges at me. I sidestep, and when he lands on the window ledge I pull the sash down on him and hold it there. Rory crosses the room in two steps and knocks out one of the armed ones with a bottle of wine. That's what he came back with. He's doing rather well with his improvised weapons, you know, they're getting more suitable. Long and pointy for last night's airborne menace and heavy and solid for tonight's more humanoid threat. Well done, Rory.

Only thing about a bottle of wine is that you only really get one strike out of it. It breaks.

The third and last of the Bwa'chech still has Amy, and still has his knife. Rory steals the blade from the one he put down, but it's too late. By the time he stands back up, it's done.

The Bwa'chech is wrapping one long, fine red curl around his gloved finger. The little knife disappears, and then he makes for the door.

"Rory, do _not_ let him leave with that!" Without a second's thought or a moment's hesitation, Rory bolts after him. "Amy?"

"I'm… I'm fine…"

She's not, but we'll be back all too soon. I throw up the sash again, unfortunately step on that poor Bwa'chech leader on my way out, and join the chase after that lock of red hair. Down to the street, following two sets of footsteps in the gas light. Rory and the Bwa'chech have already disappeared, but I know they're there. Mostly because I can hear Rory yelling how he wants his wife's hair back. The voice turns a corner ahead, so I duck across a courtyard on my left and scale the wall. Where I drop down on the other side, I hear the Bwa'chech stop.

Trapped now. Bookended between Rory and I on a narrow side-street.

"I know it's lovely, and satiny, and it smells nice-"  
>"Doctor, <em>please<em>."

"Rory, it's not my fault that your wife has a wonderful regime. But the other thing it is, my dry-bones friend, is not-yours. Pass it here and I'll see that it's returned to the proper owner."

I hold out my hand. The Bwa'chech considers its position, and decides to compromise. Unfortunately, it's not a compromise that involves giving back Amy's hair. It involves the Bwa'chech himself going up in a bang and a puff of ashy, dusty smoke, and disappearing.

With the hair.

Rory starts charging up to me. He intends to have the monopoly on the complaining this time. However, at that precise moment, slinging herself over the same wall I came over, Pond drops down in front of me and declares, "I don't like it here!" Rory nods, and makes affirmative noises from behind her. Happy to hide and bow to her greater ire. "I've been scratched up my owls, and had my hair stolen by skeleton men and _look at my hands_! I'm deformed! I'm a train wreck! I look like a _warzone_, Doctor! I want to go home now."

"Six," I tell her.

"Excuse me?"

"The number of times you used the word 'I' in that little rant, Amelia."

"Oh, no, don't do that. Don't turn this back at me. You'll regret it."

It's heartbreaking. All the good that might have been done by their dinner out tonight, gone. That bottle of wine, which could have done so much good, smashed and spilled. You know, when I find out for sure who's running those Bwa'chech, they'll pay for that. Here they stand before me, robbed entirely of every last scrap of their bright-eyed old Companion Spirit.

Yes, Companion Spirit gets capitalized now. The more I think about it the more convinced I am that that's a thing. That is a definite thing that they have or they don't now.

"So you want to go home?" I ask Pond

"Yes," she says, Scottish and blunt.

I lean around her. I probably lean a bit more than strictly necessary, just to emphasize to Rory that he _is_ very slightly hiding. "And you? Do you want to go home?"

He lingers a bit more, nods silently until Amy turns to glare at him, then says, "Yes."

A moment's pause.

"Fine then."

Both of them, in confused unison, "Really?"

"Can't keep you here against your will. We'll just nip back to the boarding house, get Jessica, say farewell to Marie and LiGrand, and then off home. Alright?" They agree with that. Happy enough with that. Follow when I lead off, glowing quietly between themselves like they've gotten one over on me.

Oh, they have no idea.


	8. Chapter 8

"Any luck?" I say to Marie, when she lets us in.

"No. And trust me when I tell you we have tried things that would quite literally wake the dead."

"Oh, that's a pity. Well, anyway, we're just going to grab Jessica and we'll be out of your hair."

"What? No, Doctor, you _can't_!"

"No choice, I'm afraid. The Ponds aren't enjoying themselves anymore; we thought we'd be off before Amy gets hexed. Jessica! Where is she?"

I'm going room to room, and Marie is following. Keeps tugging at my jacket, which is wonderful improv, I must admit. It really is like something she'd do if this was for real. "She's upstairs, but that ain't the point, honey! What are you talking about leaving for?"

"Because we're _leaving_, Marie. We don't like it here anymore. Jessica! Honestly, girl just does not listen…"

I take the stairs two and three at a time, poke open all the rooms to the end of the hall. Jessica's in the front room, with the balcony doors open onto the street. Sitting cross-legged on a kitchen chair, teaching herself to roll a silver dollar across her knuckles. How lovely. She senses me at the door and turns.

"Come along, ma petit-poi! Time to go!"

I make sure I go right inside, and pull Marie after me, so that there's room for the Ponds to look in at the door. Make a show of helping Jessica up, dusting her off, to give them time to notice who she was trying to impress with her new coin trick. Somebody upon whom her efforts are entirely wasted, unfortunately. He does not respond, cannot respond. Everything taken from him but one command, which we can't quite get to yet.

"Oh, how rude of me. Amy, Rory, meet tomorrow's kidnapper. All very exciting. Make sure and let us know how it works out, Marie!" I am trying to steer Jessica out of the room. The Ponds aren't moving from the doorway. They're biting in their lips and looking both scolded and cheated. Which I much prefer to all the gloating that was going on before, if I'm honest. "Well? Shake a leg, you two, the time-tides wait for no man."

Grudgingly, Rory murmurs, "Wait."

And Amy adds, "…Yeah."

And I, in an approximation of perfect innocence, "Wait-yeah-_what_?"

"We… We can't-"

"Yeah, we can't just leave, like, can we?"

"'Course we can! Have Tardis, will travel." Because so help me, they are going to say it, and ultimately, it is Amy who breaks out:

"Oh my God, you _win_, alright?"

I have to let go of Jessica in order to do my victory dance. Unfortunately, this also means my hands are in the air, and I'm in no position to defend myself when Marie starts beating, hard, at my back and arms. "That was a _bit_? You made me think you were walking out on this for a _bit_? To make a _point_?"

"Stop hitting me! I was giving them back their Companion Spirit."

"You are _not_ Walmart, mister, don't you capitalize that stuff."

She has scary eyes when she glares at you. Never noticed that before. They make it so I can't move very much. Just enough to point, without looking, at Rory and say, "You have people in comas and I have a nurse. Let's call the whole thing off."

LiGrand is pretty stuck on the idea of just poking any given patient with one of his claws. Eventually, he says, they're going to get annoyed and wake up to tell him off. As yet, he has had no success with this method. Rory, for his part, is suggesting twenty-first century nurse things and being told at every turn, "We tried that."

The worst is, if we wait it out, they'll come round. But we don't know how long that's going to take, and the kidnappings are still going on. And they'll come round in the order they went out, which would put us still further behind. Marie just will not stand for it.

Not that we have much choice, if we can't think of something quickly.

The other thing is, Amy's not currently here. She wanted a word with Jessica, apparently, went to stand guard over the new culprit with her. And to mourn her lost lock of hair, to plan what she's going to do with the whole style now to balance it out. This, apparently, is not a process to be completed in public. It needs a private room, a mirror, and a voiceless, objective girl to nod or shake her head as appropriate.

In her absence, I pull Marie aside and tell her what happened with the Bwa'chech.

"What?" she breathes. "Blood first, now hair…" Her eyes sink away, thinking deeply about something. Then she spins on her heel and calls to LiGrand, and when she looks up, she tells him, "Blood and hair."

Around us, asleep on their low hard pallets, all the former kidnappers give the response, "Blood and hair," and Rory physically jumps away from the one he was tending to, last night's culprit. Marie swoops in and leans by his ear.

"Blood and hair, _cher_."

"Blood and hair," he replies again.

"Her blood and her hair, pieces of her. They give you pieces of her?"

"Pieces of her in my heart…"

Marie drops her head into her hands, and LiGrand says, "But _how_?" She tells him she doesn't know. "But they're not _dead_." She tells him she knows that, she plainly sees that, that had they been dead, this would have been the first thing they thought of, and they would have had this solved on day one.

Rory looks to me for explanation. Poor soul. I channel his gaze to Marie and LiGrand and wait for them to stop bickering and help.

Eventually Marie sees me, and sighs, "Zombi. Somebody is making Zombi out of them."

"And blood and hair?" I prompt. "Then the victims aren't just random?"

"Well, we knew _that_," LiGrand sighs. Marie snaps his name, but it's too late, he's said it now. I tell her that in as many words. But she declines to answer me. She kneels by the last of the Zombi again, still coaxing him with 'Blood and hair', that eerie little mantra. So I slide up to LiGrand. But he's been told now, and he's reluctant to say anymore than he already has.

"So you knew they were picking the victims? Any clues about any sort of a _pattern_, Monsieur LiGrand? It isn't a certain type of woman or a woman with a certain type of connection that keeps getting kidnapped?"

Warningly, breaking off from 'Pieces of her in my heart', "LiGrand, honey, you have said enough."

"I'll find out eventually, Marie. Rory, do your whole usual bit about how your wife could be next and get all repercussion-y right in her ear, that usually does the trick with me."

"With pleasure, Doctor. _Madame_ Laveau, if you don't mind me being a bit formal for this, it helps me keep the flow, if there is reason to believe that my wife could be in any danger whatsoever, I'm going to have to insist on full disclosure."

"And if _you_ don't mind, Mr Williams, I am trying to get some information out of this guy."

He looks to me, but I nod him onwards, imply he should press a little harder. God knows I never get it that easy. "Really, Marie, I need to know everything there is to know. If there are going to be rabid, living zombies after my wife then I need to be up to speed when it comes to protecting her, and-"

And he's just getting into the swing of things, just getting ready to really give it to her and choke a confession from her and all those good dramatic things, when he gets a taste of what it's like to be me. Because just then when he's getting into the groove, there is a thunderous crash on the stairs outside the room. LiGrand reaches behind me and opens the door, and I peer out.

Jessica. Lying on her back at the foot of the stair, and the position implies that she didn't fall.

Now, take it from me, she's a difficult thing to push. She's extremely dense for her size, by which I don't mean that she's stupid, but that she broke three of the treads on her way down the stairs. By the time I reach her she's back on her feet, about to run back up and face whatever shoved her, but I stopped her.

I'm not going to go into describing the various signs and signals by which she communicates her message, but basically, the new Zombi broke free of his bonds and took Amy out the window.

Feats of supernatural strength are not unknown in one under a Zombi influence. Essentially, you're dealing with a mind stripped bare. In every other case I've ever heard of, the vessels have been corpses, so totally braindead. This blank, instinctive mind is given a single job to do. And thus they pursue it with psychopathic force and concentration.

I'm thinking about this, putting the facts into context for myself. It would be much easier, if I didn't have Rory getting all repercussion-y in one ear. It does work, you know. Wittering on about just standing here and why aren't we doing anything and not very happy at all when I interrupt him to beg LiGrand to tell me that installed some way of tracing our escaped kidnapper.

"_Bien sur_," he says, and that's something. Then Rory takes over again and that's not quite so helpful.

Him in one ear, and Marie in the other, still keeping up, "Pieces of her in your heart, _cher_, and what else? Blood and hair and what else?"

"Blood and hair, pieces of her, and the song to pass it on, the Zombi music."

"Doctor?" she says, and is already on her feet.

"Yes, I heard him. Right. What are we all still standing here for?"


	9. Chapter 9

Jessica is standing at the middle of the bridge at the Bayou St John, turning the dollar over and over on her knuckles. I am physically restraining Rory from joining her, and he doesn't understand why. "No, it has to be her."

"Why? What's going to happen? I mean, does it have to be her because you don't know what's going to happen to her?"

"…When did you get such a low opinion of me?"

"It sort of fluctuates."

One scaly hand between each set of shoulder blades, LiGrand shoves both of us. "There he is. We're sure about this plan?" Marie and I answer him yes. Rory doesn't answer.

The 'he' in question is the Zombi, staggering back out of the swamp like all his predecessors, muddy and sans Amy. Starting to look a bit tired on it too. When he reaches the far end of the bridge, he stops and leans on the end post, and everyone on our end starts holding their breath.

Out on the bridge, for the fifteenth time if it's once, Jessica drops the dollar. She hasn't noticed the Zombi, but at that little clang, he notices her. Suddenly he's not tired anymore, not staggering. He rushes right up to her. By the time she stands from picking up her coin, he's there.

"Will she be… alright?" Rory whispers.

"Yes. I told her to make sure and not stab anybody."

"Okay."

Jessica straightens. The Zombi looks her in the eye a long moment, then grabs her head, pulls her close and murmurs something in her ear. It takes longer than I would have imagined, but in the end, he steps back. Doesn't move at all, except that he sways on his feet. This is where it could all go wrong. This is where Jessica could stand and sway right back at him. The moment's pause is far too long.

"You _are_ sure about this?" I say to Marie.

"I thought _you_ were?"

Just as LiGrand is picking up a stone to throw at her, for her own good, for the benefit of all involved, Jessica leans. Waving in the Zombi's face, wondering if he's there. The tension breaks and we all fall from behind the post and wander up to her.

See, that's what the last Zombi was talking about. 'Zombi music'. That's how they were passing it on. One Zombi passes it on to the next through some small chant or incantation, then passes into his coma so he can't talk about it. And me, because I'm clever and smart, I got them to pass it on to a deaf girl. The Zombi doesn't know the difference, he just grabs the first person he sees.

Rory turns his head and calls me out on it, right before we reach Jessica. "How did you know-"

"I'll stop you there and tell you I didn't."  
>"Typical…"<p>

"But it did, and that's what matters." I grab the former Zombi by the swaying shoulders and put him before Marie. "This one fresh enough for you?"

"Lay him down and I'll get to work." Rory, all nursey and proper, helps me with that, stretching him out right there on the stones. I would ask him to stay and assist Marie, but I'm not sure how well that would go down when Amy is in those dark woods beyond the bridge. LiGrand understands that too, and stays without a word about it.

Facing the woods, I make sure I have the sonic, and that it's fully charged up. I tap one of Jessica's forearms and she grows short stakes down over her fingers. Rory I look over and pause to ask him if he doesn't want to nip back and grab a letter opener or a broom or something, and he tells me to shut up. Which isn't very nice when I'm genuinely proud of him for getting so good at improvised weaponry. I'm trying to encourage this new talent of his and he's telling me to shut up. Honestly, I can't do right for doing wrong these days. God, that sounds like something the Instructor would have said, when did I start sounding so old?

I'm rambling, aren't I?

I'm distracting myself from the scary dark swamp woods, aren't I?

Yes, and it was working quite well until I noticed it and started picking up on it. This is the Owl Eye theory again. Never say out loud that something has been in an owl's eye. I'm going to make that a rule when I know what number it will be. I'm distracting myself again. Let me tell you about the woods instead.

They are never quiet. There's animal noise, and there's the damp, easy swish of the rag moss that hangs in great banners off the trees, there's water, trickling everywhere even when you think the ground beneath your feet is solid. It's not, by the way, it's swamp, and it's always waiting to swallow you, or it's spitting up the gnarled, hooked tree roots to trip you flat on your face. Now, if you were in less of a hurry and a better mood, you might notice the fireflies dancing, listen and know that the night birds are sweet to hear, feel the warm, wet air close around you like a hug. But when one's closest friend is out here somewhere in possible-shading-to-probable danger of an unknown kind, you don't have time for the fireflies. Less and less time for the fireflies of late.

Ah, yes. Well, that's the swamp demystified. Nothing to distract myself from anymore.

Anyway, Rory's started lowing Amy's name like an injured bull out through the trees. Doesn't strike me as the best idea, but it's the best there is currently, so I join in. Jessica goes ahead of us. She picks our way safely across the deepest of the river, stone to stone, and the route she picks is solid.

"Amy! Doctor, where do we even _start_? Why couldn't we just have followed him straight there?"

"Too risky. If you'd been the first person he'd seen, you'd be tomorrow's Kidnapper Du Jour."

A pause, while he considers this, and then back to, "_Amy_!"

I breathe deep, and am about to call again, when I notice that it's all making my throat hurt a bit, and is proving a bit fruitless.

'Fruitlessly sore throat' and I flashback a day or two to Soul, to Jessica doing all that talking. She's still not one-hundred percent; I can tell from the way she keeps rubbing under her chin that her throat is still itchy. She just doesn't understand the feeling, isn't sure how to get to the place that gives her the pain.

She has been leading on through the dark, but now I rush up and stop her. Pull my little notebook from my pocket and use the sonic to light where I wrote for her, last night, 'perfume'.

"Can you sniff for Amy?"

Jessica seems surprised that I'm even asking. Nods and sticks her right arm out, poker straight, so it hangs back a little to the shoulder. A very specific bearing. Rory runs right up and hugs her, kisses her forehead even, which is all a little bit much, if you ask me, but it pleases him.

We try to follow Jessica's direction. All should be going well. She'll take us straight there, we'll face whatever foe is waiting, rescue Amy and her fellow captives, happy endings all round.

If you were in less of a hurry and being more observant, you would think the woods were getting a little bit darker. You would notice the low, rumbling song gathering up in the branches. You'd hear something heavy and close to the ground sliding out of the water and dragging its cumbersome self up the river banks behind you. Hear hissing.

Owls and alligators and snakes, oh my…

_Possessed_ owls and alligators and snakes, oh dear.

We must be getting close, because suddenly the owls swoop, and all in one direction, trying to drive us back. Maybe the same owls as last night, actually, because one of them knocks the sonic from my hand, and it doesn't feel like an accident. It feels like malice aforethought to me. Are owls malicious? Even if they're not, Zombi owls probably are. That all depends on who the master is, and I think it's safe to say the master is malicious in this case.

Anyway, the sonic is knocked away, and Rory dives for it. I am blindly fending off disarmingly soft balls of feathers with truly vicious beaks and talons, and backing away as they seem to want me to.

Not the best idea, actually. Only that one of Jessica's stakes drives out long into the soft ground behind me, I would be stepping on the very snouts of three very angry looking alligators. They look like they're yawning. Potentially they're just tired, but I doubt that's really what's going on here.

Rory is scrabbling in the undergrowth where the sonic disappeared. Reaches into a clump of weeds and snatches his hand back, shouting. Something bit him. Something that sticks its striped black-and-buff head out of the weeds then, black tongue flickering. _Agkistrodon piscivorus, _technically, and water moccasin less formally, and cottonmouth in the colloquial, and about the most lethal non-human thing in Louisiana.

I start towards him. One of the alligators tries to close its jaws on my trailing leg. Jessica shoves me farther forwards, out of the way. Into the owls, but the owls have no desire to eat my foot, and I accept this as a definite plus. Jessica also snaps off the end of her blade and throws it to Rory. He doesn't stab the cottonmouth through its vicious black body, but flicks it away into the trees. Which is commendable, in a save-the-earth kind of way, but now it's probably on its way back. And now that I'm paying attention, that's not the only snake about. Jessica's noticing it too, in that one is winding its way up her boot and she has to stop to kick it off.

Rory, rather fearlessly, shoves his hand right back into those weeds and comes out with the right thing this way. Throws the sonic to me. That gets the owls out of the air, and then I retune it to bass, to confuse the snakes. But that won't last forever and I'm at rather a loss as to what to do about alligators. Those are still coming, by the way. Slowly, yes, but with definite focus. Rather more like the classic idea of a Zombi, in that sense. Easing over the roots and spreading their weight so the ground doesn't swallow them, coming inevitably towards us.

"Strategic retreat time," I say, and I nod, because whoever said that was a wise person who just put forward a very good plan.

"No!" Rory cries out. "Amy's still out here."

"And you've been very badly poisoned by something very dangerous and you are less than useless to her if you're dead. And that one there," indicating Jessica, who is behind me throwing little steely javelins at alligators' eyes, "will probably think I had something to do with it and that'll be me and her finished. Mostly the Amy thing, but Jessica too. How do you feel about getting up?"

"Bit dizzy at the thought, actually." I put one arm under his and start to pull him up. "No! Not without Amy!"

"Listen to me, Rory, we will be back, and we will be back tonight, but you need to be seen to within the next few minutes or I'm not going to be able to face Amy at all."

Either that makes him listen or the venom starts to hit, because he lets me help him then. I pulls Jessica by the hood so she knows we're leaving now, and the three of us, as best we can, run away. Which was not the plan. The plan was that the four of us, plus the four other kidnappees, would be running away as best we could. That's still going to happen. I promised Rory and I wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true.

For one of our number to be poisoned, we do about as well as could expected. We get away from the owls and snakes, outrun the alligators, make it back across the tributary back to the main river and the bridge.

It is there that we hit one more unfortunate wall.

Where Marie and LiGrand are tending to the last Zombi, a semi-circle of Bwa'chech and other Embassy guards has gathered.

There is a man with them. Old and crooked and white-haired, shabbily dressed. His coat looks slept in, his shoes flap open at the toes. Leaning on a cane. He looks up, and when he sees me his eyes narrow and he points one gnarled, curved old finger.

"_You_. I should have known you'd be in this somewhere, Gallifrey."

Best ambassadorial smile on, I try to be chipper about it all. "Legba! Hello!"

As I reach them, the cane comes up and cracks down on my head. "That's Papa Legba to you, boy!"

Long time since anybody could call me boy. Not a lot of people old enough to call me boy. Legba, unfortunately, is _so_ old that I actually have to respectfully _take it_ from him.

Yes, this is Legba. This is that time where I'm going to have to talk about him.

Honestly. Every time I think I'm doing quite well at something…


	10. Chapter 10

Legba, or Papa Legba as he is affectionately known amongst those that might know him affectionately (I am assured that such people exist), is the man in charge of New Orleans. Or he chooses to _appear_ as a man at any rate. A smelly old tramp of a man, who may go where he pleases and be anywhere, in order to keep an eye on his patch. Not that he changes his form when he comes to perform in his more official capacity. Like when he's attempting to arrest one of his own enforcers.

He wants Marie to come with him quietly. She's refusing. Which is good, considering I have a man dying from a snakebite and a forest full of hexed animals to deal with, and could use her help. It's also not good because more than likely Legba's next move will be to take her by force. That won't end well for Marie.

And so it is upon me once again to insinuate myself into the little space between them and diffuse the situation. On my way there, I had Rory to LiGrand and tell him to explain what's wrong. He's a bit far gone for that, though, but I think he manages to raise up his hand and show the bite.

"Legba," I say, in my best and most diplomatic voice, "What appears to be the problem?"

"I have no problem with you, boy."

"No, no, but the _general_ problem, sir; perhaps I can help."

"They're saying I done it," Marie fills in. Not willing to stand behind me, she's trying to push me aside. Which makes a change when I'm having an argument, but on this occasion I have to stand my ground. "They're saying it was _me_."

"We are saying," says Legba, doing an uncanny imitation of a kind and patient man, "that the evidence is very much against you, Madame Laveau."

"Is it?" I ask her.

Marie grits her teeth, and hates every moment of telling me, "Yes."

I raise a finger to excuse us from Legba. He nods, conceding, and steps away with his coterie of Bwa'chech. Marie glares after them, but I pull her back and ask, very real and very quiet, "If I defend you, am I going to be disappointed?" Because I don't want to be disappointed. I'm not sure, right at this moment, how I would cope with being disappointed.

"I had nothing to do with this."

Which isn't exactly a 'no'. I could point that out to her, but I have become acutely aware of every passing second, lately. It's a strange and very stressful sensation. Like a countdown, or rather a series of them. Countdown to Rory falling into potentially fatal seizure, possible countdown on something horrible happening to Amy, countdown to all the countdowns actually bursting one of my poor hearts. So I remove the unnecessary question. I leave Marie a moment, turn to LiGrand and put my hands on his shoulders. "Rory's dying; fix him. Then go home. Get everything you and Marie will need to break a series of hexes and biological cloakings, everything we'll need to defend ourselves from Swamp of the Living Dead. Rory will explain when he's not dying."

Then I breathe and leap back between Marie and Legba. "You, sir, are accusing Madame Laveau of a crime, is that correct?"

"Of a series of them."

"And you have gathered evidence against her, is that also correct?"

He grins, like he's enjoying this. Good for him that has the time to enjoy things. "Indeed, Doctor."

"Then you of course intend for her to have a fair trial, jury of her peers, so on and so forth, all those Constitutional things, do we have a Constitution yet? What year is this?"

"No."

"No we don't have a Constitution or no you don't mean for her to have a fair trial?"

"The latter."

"Well, that's a shame. That's not very Constitutional of you, Legba. I'd really rather you did. And wouldn't it amuse you? I know how easily you get bored, or you wouldn't live here. I feel like I should warn you I don't intend to stop talking until you agree to a trial, and I really can go on, you know, like the time I met Michel Roux, he fell asleep, you know, didn't even notice-"

"Insolent boy!" he rages. All very sudden, from calm to Vesuvius in point-nought-six. I am unashamed to say that I jump, because Marie is still hanging on my shoulder, and she jumps in perfect sync, I feel it.

But then he says nothing, and I steel myself, "So we can have a trial? A little one? Tiny little half-a-trial for your best agent in her hour of need?"

Through all of this he begins to smile. It spreads out across his face in a way that betrays the fact he isn't really a trampy old man underneath it all. "Alright then, Doctor. I shall be the judge. You, I presume, will be the defence."

"Yes, but it's rather short notice, you must admit." He looks, for a moment, as though he might rage again, like I'm messing him about, but he must understand that by agreeing to a trial he also agreed to due process.

Please, _please_ do not ask how it is that I came to know so much about the American legal system. That is another and very different story with a different rating and I never did it. Whatever they tell you I did, I didn't.

Nonetheless, "The defence must be given time to _build_ a defence. You can't ask me to make it up as I _go_ now, can you?" He can't ask. Doesn't mean I can't, that being what I'm doing now, but it would be unfair to _expect_ it. "No, no, for you are a fair and just governor of this beautiful, peaceful borough. I would request the term of no more than one night, to… get a few things out of the way, and to prepare myself to speak on the defendant's behalf."

Legba leans forward on his cane and bares his crooked, discoloured teeth. "One night, you say, _dear_ boy?"

"One night."

"You may have one night." I like doing well, you know. It's a nice feeling. Even after all these years of pretty much continuously doing well, I've never gotten tired of it. And of course I haven't been doing quite so perfectly well of late, so it's especially nice to get my own way now. "You may have this night."

"…No, that's not quite what I was getting at-"

I have to break off because he hits me again on the head with the cane. "But that is what you are getting, Doctor. I will return with the sunrise, and you will defend Madame Laveau, whether you are sufficiently prepared or not."

I would argue further, but he sees it coming, and raises up the cane again. So I close my mouth again and just nod. Legba turns, and shambles away with his old man's walk, laughing, and with the Bwa'chech performing their long theatrical strides all around him.

My courage returns in time for me to shout after him. "One last thing!" He doesn't like stopping. I can only imagine the flaming look on his face, before he turns to me smiling. "If I am to be handicapped in such a way, the least you can do is tell me what I'm up against. This evidence of yours, for instance, what does that look like?"

He grins, then laughs in the most amenable sort of a way, "Oh, only that four of the women kidnapped have been human followers of Madame Laveau's greatest enemy at the Embassy, and that they each have been kidnapped using a method known only to her." I lose time then, because I am wondering just how to go about wringing Marie's neck in a way that won't cast a shadow on a longstanding friendship, and in that time, Legba is gone.

Marie, oddly enough, isn't hanging on my shoulder anymore. She's a few steps away, actually. Out of arm's reach. Not all that sure when or how she did that, you know. Sneaky little thing, Marie is…

"He's talking about Erzuli, isn't he, Marie? They're Erzuli's followers and you're the only one in town who knows a thing about how to zombify. Is that about right? Is that what he was getting at there?"

"Yes."

"Marie?"

"_Cher_?"

"How far away is sunrise?"

"About an hour."

Yes. That's about right, really.


	11. Chapter 11

Rory's not dead. LiGrand keeps assuring me of this in a way that makes me think he's very determinedly hiding something. And the fact is, Rory looks dead, and I don't put it past LiGrand to have pulled a fast one there. No time for mistrust though. Tick tock, sixty minutes down to forty-five already finding this and waiting for silly, red-tape things like safe blood pressures to return and deliriums to disappear. It's been good prep time, though.

We have, for instance, ear plugs, should anything try to sing at us. And I know they've only got two notes in their call, but some of those owls looked like they were giving it a damn good go. Not taking any chances. We have salt, or what Marie keeps telling me is 'just salt', because apparently that's very good for casting the 'bad souls' (or 'hex commands' for those of us of scientific mind) out of the creatures. The fact that I'm not allowed to use it on any leeches that might make themselves known anchors my theory that it is not, in fact, 'just salt'. We have big sticks, for beating off owls and snakes. Rory's idea, actually. In the throes of delirium he mistook LiGrand for the snake that bit him and got rather inventive with a broom. We're working with it. We also have Marie. If Amy wasn't shouting back to us, that means she's hidden. It could mean other things that don't bear thinking about, so it basically just means she's hidden. Marie can trace any alien intervention out in the swamp. I'm favouring the 'dimensional rift' theory, myself, but she's pretty convinced we're looking at some kind of vocal masking.

We haven't put a bet on it because that would be disrespectful.

We haven't, stop looking at me like that.

I couldn't think of anything for the alligators. But Jessica is wearing a very long pair of stakes, currently, and it all seems to have gotten very personal between her and the Scaled Menace. I'm almost certain I caught her measuring herself for a necklace of teeth. So I think the alligators are handled.

Which is good, because we're down to forty minutes and only just on our way.

"Forty minutes until what?" Rory asks. He's already taking a moment out of being stoic to realize he still can't feel some of his fingers, so he might as well.

"Until Marie goes on trial."

"For _what_?"

"The kidnappings."

"I hate nearly dying. Every time I nearly die I _miss_, _everything_."

"Good to see you taking an interest again."

With quiet, light-hearted lethality, and I believe every word, "Well, if anything happens to Amy, I'll take more than an interest."

For the sake of expediency, and to get away from slightly scary nature of that comment, I'll skip to the next roadblock in our little mission.

The bridge again. I suppose it's natural, you know, as a cut-off point, as a point of assault, since it's the only access across the river to the swamp. Good place to attack people, is all I'm saying. And Bwa'chech again, but if they are doing your bidding and they've done a decent job so far, well, why fix that what is not broke? Four of them, blocking the way entirely.

Jessica and LiGrand, from either side of us, each take a step forward. He's armed with a long Spanish rapier pillaged off some deposed aristocrat, she with her arms. Complete overreaction, of course, reason shall prevail before they're needed to intervene. Violence is never necessary, you know. There. Now does that sound like something a man going to war would say, no, no it doesn't, completely ridiculous this General business.

Hm? Me caught up in entirely the wrong thing at a sensitive moment? No.

Even if I was, it would not rob me of so much of my cognitive faculty that I would ever dream of saying something like, "Oh, just get out of the _way_, would you?" to a number of under-orders Bwa'chech, when prompted by a sharp little elbow in the ribs. Thank you, Marie, by the way, for the bruising. Anyway, that's not what I said. Not quite sure what I said. Upshot is, LiGrand and Jessica intervene.

Now, not to do him down or anything, but LiGrand just launches in. Which is fine as far as it goes, probably what I would have done. But I'm watching Jessica, to make sure she's alright, and that girl has a plan, you know. Knowing we need past, she goes for the Bwa'chech on the end, and goes hard, so that the one next door turns to defend him. Then, with their attention held, she parries them back and back towards LiGrand. And that's a whole half of the bridge left open for us to slide around them.

One unaccounted for, and he notices us trying this. But Jessica's strategy is already complete and she's free to stop him. Unfortunately, I don't appear to have made clear earlier that 'No more stabbing things' didn't just apply to that Zombi. The pointed end of the stake comes through the front left thigh of the last Bwa'chech. It stops him, certainly, but when Jessica tries to pull away again, she goes nowhere.

'Dry Arms'. That's the translation I gave for Bwa'chech, isn't it? The common name for them, though, is Dust People.

The tip of the stake crumbles. Then, from the point of entry into Bwa'chech flesh, the rest starts to grey away. Jessica doesn't understand, and stares at it as though from a distance. I step in and shake her away, pulling her with me before the discolouring can spread any farther. I don't know where those stakes come from and this horrible image of a sort of jellyfish Jessica pooled on the ground won't leave me now.

"Come on. Need you for those alligators anyway. LiGrand?"

"Yes, sir, I'll be fine."

He will and all. I'm glad Amy's not here, the way he gets on with that sword; we'd never get anything done. Marie gets all stoic then and claims she's not leaving him. I check my watch, and the fresh rosy glow on the distant horizon, and tell her she is.

The rest goes much the same way as before. This time, however, we know which way to go, and when the feathery and/or scaly forces of evil begin to gather, we're ready for them. I've actually lashed the sonic to the end of the big stick, so that it can't be knocked away from me, and because it's good fun to wave it in the air and watch the owls fall away in its wake. They're getting up faster this time, though. Rory, on the other hand, has understandably gone for the snakes. Got himself quite a good technique going for firing them away many feet into the lessening darkness.

Sunrise isn't usually so ominous. Not unless you're a vampire anyway.

"They're here," Marie declares, not metres from the place where we were attacked earlier on. "That's why the critters go so crazy here, this is it."

"But _Marie_," I begin, but stop to kick a snake, "I don't see the missing women at _all_."

"That would be because the culprit is using a dimensional rift to disguise them."

"Oh. So that's a… tenner, did we say?"

"We never set stakes."

Rory, disgusted, "You had a _bet_ on this?"

No, of course not. That would be disrespectful. I already _told_ you that, and I told you too to stop _looking_ at me like that. There was no bet. What are you going to believe? What you read or what I tell you?

"I want my palm read," I say, and Marie laughs. She's kneeling, working at papers and powders from her kit. There is no more for us to do but keep her safe and undisturbed.

"There's a force here that's giving off the hex. That's what's driving the animals to defend it. When I break that, they oughta run home squealing. Then you'll be able to open the door, as it were."

"Wonderful, only if it could happen rather more quickly that it is-"

"I know, I know. What are we down to, ten minutes?"

"More like seven and five-twelfths, if I'm still keeping good count of those ticky little seconds, but I was rather more worried about Jessica there."

We left her at the river, you see, fending the alligators back at their source. Three of them again, probably the same ones. Locals, I suppose. But they too have a strategy. Odd, for creatures which are essentially solitary when not zombified and which are all acting under their own direction, but that is not for me to question. No, they come forward in triangle formation, pushing in around Jessica's toes. And anytime she might drive forward at any one of them, the other two nip in behind, and around her, then abandon her entirely and make for us.

She's doing a good job, staying in front of them. In a fearless kind of way that very briefly causes my hearts to lose synchronicity, she's occasionally booting them in the snouts. But they _are_ still driving her back and the whole thing _is_ getting closer.

"Marie?" I ask. In a quiet way, so as not to make it difficult for her to work, but trying to be insistent.

"Marie, for God's sake, tonight would be _brilliant_!" Rory cries out. There are three snakes on his broom. I use mine to dislodge them, but that means taking it out of the air, which means I end up with an owl going for the side of my neck. While I'm trying to fight his vicious little talons out of my tweed, my owl-beating stick is taken from my hand. I'm aware of this without really noticing it, what with the repeated bashing of the beak very, very close to my eye.

Then a little _thwap_ noise. A paper of something, done up in a ball and thrown into the air, battered with a broom and a sonic screwdriver. It bursts, and showers the clearing in silvery white dust.

"Neuroinhibitors," Marie explains, while Rory and I are rather busy coughing. "Should break the hold."

And sure enough, within moments, the owls start wheeling away and the snakes take the hint, turn tail and run from Rory. The alligators stop in their tracks at Jessica's feet. Then start approaching again.

"Doctor?" Rory prompts, looking on, ready with his broom to step in and do absolutely no good whatsoever.

"Oh, nothing's wrong. No, the inhibitors worked, they're no longer Zombi. They are, however, still alligators and still very angry and Jessica has been poking them for the last six, _seven_ minutes. Marie, you know I don't approve of you using your particular genius to the detriment of others in any way, shape or fashion, but-"

She grins. That's why I don't approve, because she _grins_, because she likes it, because I can _hear_ it on her voice when she says, "Leave it to me."

At any other moment in any other time, I'd give more thought to sonicing open a rift into the unknown and dragging Rory and Jessica with me through it. But with four and a half minutes to go, it's not quite so terrifying. It doesn't really have time to be terrifying. And so it is that without a thought for my own safety or anybody else's, without a moment's contemplation of what might be beyond the veil, we all fall through in heaven-alone-knows-what, from which we may never return.

This is great, this not-thinking-about-things. Usually I'd be terrified by now.


	12. Chapter 12

And what was it, you cry, after the desperate suspense of that horribly-placed chapter break, that awaited us in the depths of that unknown? What fresh hell took us in its white-hot claws, our only shelter from that Romero-produced swamp?

It's a spa.

I won't lie to you, I'm a little bit annoyed it's not a world of fire and torment. Not that I'd wish that on Amy, you understand, just that that's the kind of thing that's supposed to be on the other side of the mysterious veil. It doesn't even have to be fire, it could be ice, or pointy things, or monsters, but the last thing you expect to find when you walk into the trunk of a tree in a New Orleans swamp is a lavish, glittering swimming pool sunk in a golden floor, with sweet oils bubbling off the surface of the nearby Jacuzzis, incense burning, the scent of exotic lotions. Champagne and bloody strawberries, which aside from anything else are out of season. I think. Not sure of the date, actually, but I know the strawberry season is very short, so it's a fair bet.

The last thing you expect to find is _Amy_, having a _massage_, on a cushioned table across the room. Half-asleep, attended by something muscular and humanoid. I swear I can hear the last of the poison being forcibly expelled from Rory's bloodstream. There's another one of them, whatever they are, on the left too, feeding cherries to a young black lady of rather fuller figure than Amy and I'm not looking, I swear I'm not looking, it's just that everywhere I look it's everywhere, it's worse than Rome, and I'm a different man to the man I was in Rome, literally, and I am just not comfortable with this and I am married and I am married and I am married.

Jessica, as shy as ever of real people and all the things they like, is halfway behind one of the pink velvet drapes that line the walls. She should really be coaxed out and taught that this is all to the good. I'm actually rather tempted to join her.

Rory, though, Rory has no problem whatever with charging up to the masseur and, without so much as finding out what race the gentleman might belong to, knocking him flat. The first Amy is aware of our presence is when the massage stops.

Tired, put-out little noises. Then she opens her eyes and sees Rory. Groans long and low, "Oh, no…"

"…Thanks."

"Is it just you? Have you been kidnapped? That would be great if you'd been kidnapped?" She peers around him, sees me, hovering rather too close to the curtains, and Jessica waving out from behind them. Not that I'm looking at her, not at all, and anyway Rory is lifting the gold satin sheet right up to her shoulders, not that I would know because I'm not looking at her, but Amy shakes her head at me, "Please don't rescue me."

"If anybody's going to be doing any rescuing," Rory says through all his hurt and offence, "It'll be me, thank you."

"Well, you can _stay_," she tells him. "There's chocolate, and music, and _hairdressers_-you-didn't-even-notice, did you?"

And I know from experience that this argument could go on to eat up quite a bit of time, so I clear my throat and the other lady, the one in the Jacuzzi, she's left the cherries in favour of watching us all with interest. _She_, I would like to stress, is looking at _me_. "Amy, I'm afraid we're going to have to go on ahead with the rescue, if it's not too much trouble."

"But _why_?" she whines. Big eyes, lower lip out, at me and then at Rory when I prove steely enough to withstand her.

"Because otherwise they're going to exile Marie back to her home planet. LiGrand too, more than likely."

"Well… _exile_, Doctor. I mean, that's not so bad, is it?"  
>"Not in itself, but usually 'exile' is just a euphemism for atomizing them and saying they went home. Bit like when your puppy went to that farm that time and you weren't allowed to visit."<p>

Her face falls, and she murmurs something. I'm too far away to hear clearly, but it might be 'Buttons'. Then she sighs, and tosses her head and generally makes a fuss about things which are going to happen should we have to pick her up and _drag_ her, and I give in. "Amy, get dressed. Rory, find the rest of them, make sure they're dressed and _get them out_. I don't care if you have to tell them there are Chippendales on the other side of that rift and _you_," I say, pointing to the girl in the Jacuzzi, "Not a word about any lies that might be told, do you understand?"

She nods, rolling a cherry pit between her bored, disinterested teeth.

Rory peks up a bit, "Oh. Certainly, Doctor."

"_Rory!_"

"Sorry, Amy."

"And _you_!" I go on. I mean to point at Amy's masseur, but he, of course, is on the floor with lots of little cartoon birds flying around his head, so I turn instead to the one with the bowl of cherries. "You, are you involved with this? Are you going to give him any trouble?"

"No," he says. The voice an octave or two higher than you'd think to look at him. A touch cattier, maybe, slightly feminine. I am implying nothing. "We're all paid. He's going to want compensation, though." Meaning his fallen friend, of course.

"Post it. I'll get back to you at the end of the month. Jessica?" I turn. I _was_ about to ask her to stay, to ensure, with her long and pointy sticks if necessary, that all five women and Rory leave within the next two and a half minutes. Jessica, however, would appear to have already given up on this, preferring her chances with the alligators. I was _going_ to warn Rory again, but Amy's already doing it, with every moment of eye contact, every uneasy time she has to take her eyes off him for a second. "Right, I'm due in court. Don't make me come back in here."

I duck my head back out through the rift, just to be sure that I can, then let the rest of me follow.

The three alligators are hanging from low branches with their tails in their own mouths. This is why I don't approve of Marie using her powers for ill; she's far too good at it. Jessica is crouched on one of these branches, right in close with face and both hands to study the blade-like reptilian teeth, with the closest thing to desire I've ever seen in her expression.

"Stop that! Oh, no time," and she didn't hear me anyway, so I reach out instead and just grab Marie by the arm. "It makes perfect sense. Why does it make perfect sense when you told me I wouldn't be disappointed in you? Why has that happened?"

"What are you talking about?" she says, but her eyes are down and away. I'm trying very hard to believe her, but she's not making it easy for me.

"If Legba wasn't lying and all of those women barring Amy are Erzuli's devotees, then it all makes sense. Now I'm not sure what strange dimension lies beyond that rift, but I can tell you for certain that the kidnappees were in no immediate danger whatsoever, and would have had absolutely no need to worship anything more beautiful than themselves. Now why would anybody do that? Why would anybody remove from a Godgrace, a Godgrace who, might I remind you, _you don't like_, Marie, the one thing that a Godgrace requires to survive?"

"What do I know?" she says, all terse with me and her little nose in the air, "I'm just the voodoo woman. Just the enforcer. You don't like my methods. _You're_ supposed to be the great detective, _you_ put it together."

"I think you've got me confused with somebody else, Marie. I haven't followed _clues_ to this conclusion so much as flaming arrows four foot across that poked me if I tried to ignore them."

She shrugs, "Then don't defend me."

"Oh, I'm afraid he doesn't have a choice now, Madame Laveau."

Ah. Legba. Sun must have come up while we were arguing and now he's standing in the trees. They're all coming out of the trees, in fact. You can always depend on ambassadors to turn up to an execution.

Poor sun. Slipping in the back way without so much as a how-do-you-do to avoid the conflict. I understand, you know. I might just do that from now on, rather than landing down and trying to fix my problems properly. Might just let everybody not talk for a while next time. Yes, that sounds like a much better plan.


	13. Chapter 13

I will tell you, if you will allow me, how a court of petty and self-righteous alien ambassadors works. The masses assemble in a loose semicircle to do little more than rubberneck and wait for the execution. It's never a pretty sight either. One alien in the diplomatic finery of its people is a beautiful thing; together the sublime becomes ridiculous. En masse they look more like a science-fiction convention than the United Nations of the universe.

One of them stands apart as the complainant. Erzuli, in this case. She is, of course, surrounded by fawning attendants to keep her looking well for her public appearance, and the glow of her rejuvenated skin is the reflection of their love. She looks appropriately victimized, daubing at her big green eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief.

And there is Legba, standing as both judge and prosecution, presiding over all. He has not changed, and still has that charming scent of tramp about him.

Into all of this, I am to bring Marie. The Bwa'chech standing guard take hold of her, bind her hands and place a gag between her teeth. Then lift her hands up over her head that she might fish no magic from the hitches of her skirts and evade them all, and fix them to the bole of the largest and most central tree for all to look upon. She looks very much like a witch about to be burned. And depending on who they have in to get rid of her, that could well happen.

She looks at me, eyes wide over the gag. Wondering what I'm going to say, after our little conversation before.

It's a really, really good question.

They have tied her to the same tree that Jessica is sitting in. I am dimly aware of her, over my head, then scuttling down through the branches. If I was thinking about it I might question what could drag her away from the alligator teeth that have held her so in thrall, but I'm not.

I'm not thinking about anything other than the fact that all these ambassadors are looking at me with the same scandalous expectation as teenagers at the movies. They're wondering what I'm going to say too. Wondering what I could possibly say to do them out of a kill tonight. Pack mentality kicking in. Don't get me wrong, these are diplomats; should Marie, by some miracle, be proven innocent, they'll all smile and heave a sigh of false relief and pretend it's the very best kind of outcome. And inwardly they'll curse the name of whoever it is that got her off the hook, and that person had better watch his back.

Can't do right for doing wrong.

And what would I say, anyway? I'll only make a fool of myself. Not that I can't leave this time in five minutes and have this night a lost half-memory within a week. Making a fool of myself doesn't matter much to me. But how can I argue when I don't believe?

"Doctor," Legba announces, loud enough to call order in the court. "You stand in defence of the accused, Madame Marie Laveau. How does she plead?"

I look to Marie. Marie, strange to relate, is looking at her feet, looking sunken and low. And it pains me, so very deeply, to contemplate a guilty plea, but she's not giving me any other choice.

Fortunately, there is a moment's respite in distraction. The Bwa'chech guards have run to the back of the tree they tied Marie to, where Jessica is climbing down. And she looks at them, holding their hands up to ward her off, and placating her with _petites_ and _chers_, and fires forth one short blade from her forearm. When they all step back, she eyes them, communicating with precisely a moment's eye contact that she might well kill them, and begins to come to me.

I announce, "Counsel craves a moment with his assistant. And she's not taking no for an answer."

A ripple of laughter from the ambassadors, and Legba has no choice but to allow the interruption. Even he has to please the locals when he can. And they like Jessica. They aw and coo over Jessica, as she comes up to me and, without even asking this time, takes my little notebook from my pocket. Might be an idea to actually get her one of her own, you know. That might save some time. But right at this moment I'm grateful for the interaction, because the audience, or rather the assembled in the court, are loving it.

She writes a very quick something. As I read it, I want to question how she even knew that was the case at stake, but there isn't time for impossible questions. Instead I say, "What makes you say that?"

Jessica just taps the side of her nose twice. So sweet and secretive, and the ambassadors just can't resist. Agwe's there, slimy old Agwe Amy wouldn't dance with, and his wife cuddles up to him at this and mutters something in his ear. At this distance I can't be sure, but I looks like, 'Get me one of those.' She's a lovely woman, Sirene, deep down. Really deep, though. Certainly I've never seen it first hand.

"Thank you, Jessica," I say, and bow my head to her. She replies in kind, and then goes back up the tree. Now that she's got a bit of blade out, I suppose she'll probably go after that tooth. She's earned it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Madame Laveau, your own dear protector, the woman who has made your existence here in New Orleans possible and peaceable, pleads not guilty to the multiple charges of _kidnapping_ laid against her." And Marie, who had seemed so blasé and unworried, heaves a sigh up from deep, deep inside her which finally lets me know I'm doing the right thing. "Said charges are ridiculous, founded entirely on dubious circumstantial evidence and no more. Dubious circumstantial evidence which I am sure Legba is about to present to you all _most_ convincingly and with great gusto, my esteemed Ambassadors."

Legba eyes me as he steps up. He's trying to see what Jessica wrote down. I wait until the assembly has noticed this before I stuff her little note into my pocket, and get another roll of laughter from them.

He puts forward his evidence, all the things he already told me. That four out of five of the women in question were followers of Erzuli. Erzuli calling from the sidelines all this time, "That's true!" and "So she did!", as if Legba would tell a lie at such a difficult moment. She isn't just confirming, she's craving their love, and their pity even more so. She grows more delectable with every passing second. I am still very much not looking at any such thing ever.

He comes to the justification, if that's what he's calling it; that there is a longstanding rivalry between Erzuli and Madame Laveau. He quotes incidents I knew about and a few that have happened while I've been elsewhere. The one about LiGrand, for instance, is totally new. Not just to _me_, either. Dear Ayida, for instance, the Weddo, she's an innocent and colourful spirit at heart, but she blushes to the roots of her hair. Sheds a whole new light on _that_ relationship, let me tell you. The _things_ a Silurian will do to stay above ground, _well_… a gentleman wouldn't go into it, but I'm sure you get the picture.

In short, the circumstantial case against me is strong, stronger than I could have imagined.

Legba throws it back to me to refute. I swallow the lump in my throat and realize that somehow despite, or perhaps because of, the fact that she once tried to murder me in cold blood, I trust Jessica more than Marie.

"Esteemed… _colleagues_," I begin, really very unsure of my place among them, and beginning to tire of all this ridiculous formality, "And all you fine, fine people out there. There can be no doubt in your minds that _cher_ Papa puts forward an excellent case. All full and detailed and all that. But my friends, I propose to present to you one simple fact, upon which that entire and most complete of cases must inevitably collapse." There is a murmur of interest, of the sort which I had thought only happened in films, amongst the assembled. "Ladies and gentlemen, I opt to present to you, the kidnapped women!"

At this, I go to where they have hung Marie up, and push her out of the way like a curtain. Jessica reaches down from the low branches and helps pull her aside. Then I'm able to reach into the tree, into that most sensuous and relaxing of spa worlds, and beckon.

Of course, Pond family traits being what they are and timing not being one of them, nobody comes. So I stick my head and shoulders in and shout for them. "_Today! _In fact, _now_, that would be _wonderful_!"

Rory steps out of a doorway at the back of the room. "_Amy_ is ready. As to the rest of them… do you have any idea what women's clothing was like in the 1860s?"

"Why, yes, yes I do, but this isn't the time for that story. _Pond_!" She steps out behind him, still holding the two ends of a pair of corset ties, eyeing me. "Need you. Proof of life sort of thing."  
>"Yeah, alright, two seconds, I just want to t-"<p>

"_Now_, Pond." So she hands the ties, reluctantly and with much meaningful exchange of glances, to Rory, and comes to me. "_Well_," I say to the Ambassadors, stepping out of the tree, "I have the one of them that is actually decent." At which moment precisely, Amy comes through the rift, and draws a few uncouth growls from the back of the gathering. Those Ghede, you know; they're a rough old bunch. "Well, I didn't say 'decent' by the standards of _this_ time." A little ripple of amusement, thankfully. Legba, even, is looking on with interest. The rest of them are on their way. Now, Mrs Amelia Williams, might I enquire of you, as a witness here, to tell these good people where you've been for the last three hours or so?"

"The… the spa," she says, uncertainly. "The spa at the end of the universe."

I repeat what she said up loud for the benefit of those at the back. Even with their combined technological advances, they seem stunned at the concept. "Oh, yeah. Spa in a tree, folks. Stick that in your Conde Nast and charge for it. This time next year, we'll be _millionaires_. And were there others there, Mrs P-… Williams?"

"There were, Doctor," she replies. Getting into the swing of things now, really selling it. "Four of them. Not foreigners like me, you understand, local girls. And they all knew Madame Erzuli personally, I remember that much."

Note to self, hug Pond when this is all over. "Four kidnapped followers of Erzuli, living in a space dedicated to feminine beauty… And might I say you scrub up well, Mrs Williams." The Ambassadors giggle, but I do mean that last part. They've done a real job on her hair, even with the missing lock. "Now why would anybody do that, I wonder?"

Legba interrupts me with the same theory I had considered before; that somebody, somebody jealous and vengeful, had wished to deprive Erzuli of love and affection, thus starving her away to dust. Wonderful theory that. I'd stand by it, if I didn't know any better.

"True but, and here's the rub, _cher_ Legba, would you, in your infinite wisdom, concede that in order to open such a rift _into_ the Spa At The End Of The Universe, one would have to step through said rift themselves?"

"I would concede."

"Then Papa Legba, prepare to be utterly convinced that Madame Laveau had _nothing to do with these kidnappings whatever!_ Except in her valiant attempts to solve the very mystery of them! Do we have a Mr Damballah with us tonight?" Damballah, of the Viperidae, a race of super-evolved snakes from a good few lightyears away, eases forward through the crowd and makes himself known. Glad to be of service, basking (if you'll pardon the pun) in all the attention. "Mr Damballah, these woods are full of the barely-sensate ancestors of you and your brethren, with which I am told you can communicate. Would you do us the honour of obtaining one's cooperation, if you please?"

Mr Damballah is all too pleased to help out, in front of such an audience. He has one of the cottonmouths in his hands within moments, and the little snake is just as willing. I take it from him and bring it to Marie. "Ladies and gentlemen, what I am doing now is allowing our no-legged friend to gain the scent of the defendant. I then intend to send it through the tree and into the Spa. When it returns to us, I would respectfully request that Mr Damballah ask it to relate whether or not it caught any trace of that same scent in the room beyond the rift. You'll notice we're using the absolutely neutral intervention of any old forest creature," and here I draw the creature back to address it, "No offence, my friend – In order to ensure an unbiased verdict."

It is at this point that I hang the snake from one hand and push it through the rift. Let it hang about for a while, until it realizes it's not in Louisiana anymore and coils up to possibly bite me. At which I pull it out and hand it back to Mr Damballah.

"No such scent!" he announces, a little melodramatic for my taste, but what the hell, it's a courtroom scene. The reaction grows appropriately, with gasps and cries and accusations, and a clump of hair falls from behind the lady Erzuli's ear. She screams out that it's fixed, that _I_ did this, like I ever wanted to be involved whatever…

"Mr Damballah, if you would now ask our friend if he can catch that scent anywhere _amongst those gathered here!_"

Perfect, pin-drop silence falls. Damballah hisses his one easy question, and sets the cottonmouth down on the ground.

Where it slides, prompt if at it's own pace, over to Erzuli.

Who screams, and almost instantly withers to black up and down her fine sharp nose. Losing their love, these people around her. There's an outcry, and Legba wants to argue, but they're not listening.

So all he does is cry out, "You accuse the Ambassador Erzuli of the Godgraces?"

"I do, sir."

"You have no motive. And this _one, tenuous_ scrap of evidence, _boy_!"

"Motive?" I cry right back, because hysteria is fun when you really, really get into it. Even Amy, still at my side, can't help but echo, and I take her under one arm as my chorus voice, "_Motive_?" And I really am making this part up, so I sort of need that support. "Erzuli had all the motive in the _world_! She was losing her looks, having trouble keeping herself in other people's good books. Let's face it, show of hands, folks, who here would that surprise?" Nobody raises their hand, or even a claw. "But look at her tonight! Barring that unfortunate nose incident when you all _looked_ at her just then. She's _gorgeous_! Even I can say that, and I'm married to this one's daughter."

I poke Amy and she nods with military definition, "She's _bloody_ beautiful!"

"And wouldn't you all love her, or wouldn't she _think_ you'd all love her, if she had rid you of a jealous menace out to destroy you all? And so it was that Lady Erzuli _framed_ Marie Laveau and am I anywhere, even, in the ballpark at all, Erzuli?"

A smart defendant would just say 'no' and keep a straight face. But I know the moment I look at her that she's _raging_, about to snap. All it takes is for Pond and I to raise an eyebrow at her. And then, with _impeccable_ timing for once in his life, Rory exits the tree at the head of a stream of half-dressed Orleanian beauties of just the sort to worship Erzuli. Couldn't have done it better if I'd tried.

"I would have made them _perfect_ there!" Erzuli screams, falling back against her nearest tree. She's lost the righteous vote, and now she's begging for sympathy. Finding none, of course, but begging nonetheless. "And I would have made them _mine_!"

"You would have drained them," I guess, but I guess without a question mark, so it becomes a fact. The assembled look Erzuli over, and her skin thins to newspaper.

"Don't _look_ at me like that!" she cries. And repeats it. And repeats it. Fading out.

Legba relents, flicks a hand at the Bwa'chech.

They cut Marie down.


	14. Chapter 14

The verdict brings uproar in the court. They rage and hear-hear and shake their fists, and Erzuli gradually sinks on a weakening knee. The Bwa'chech take custody of her, lashing her to that self-same tree, and spread out to take care of the rescued women too. Rory, I believe, is rather annoyed about this; like he's not doing a good enough job. He doesn't understand what they need those girls for. Anyway, Amy distracts him. This, I think, is the first opportunity they've had to discuss his little encounter with the cottonmouth, so I'll leave them to that for a moment.

Marie comes up to me. Still not speaking much at all. Still looking down at her feet in that oddly reluctant way. She's never reluctant. Everything about her is bright and brassy and forthright, and so this unnerves me more than I can say. So I don't try.

"Marie?"

"Yeah?"

"If I lean on you, do you think you can take the weight?"

"I wanna go back," moans a girl behind me. Cherry Jacuzzi girl.

"Lean on her," Marie murmurs, nudging me, "She's built for it. I… I have to speak to Legba."

Oh, yes, Doctor, I can hardly contain my gratitude, so great it is. It presses forth upon my heart until I feel almost it might burst should I neglect to give it vent.

Think nothing of it, dear girl. The drying of your eyes is thanks enough for me…

Then she goes to speak to Legba. Or rather, he speaks, and she, having no fear of death and no appreciation for the work that goes into keeping her alive, spits at him. Beyond that I can't even watch.

As to me, I'm never doing law again. Never. Never ever-ever-ever-ever-ever not if my _life_ depends on it. It's all stressful and energetic and _heavens_, the italics! Or whatever the spoken equivalent is. It's hard to calm down now, to stop declaiming and declaring and just speak. That's why I don't say anything when the Ponds come over. Amy takes that as leave to start in on me.

"You let my husband get bitten by a zombie snake."

"I did," I say. Turn to her, take her by the shoulders, and meet her eyes. "Therefore, Amelia Pond, and in this order: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, thank you, and I'm sorry."

"I think I followed that, but what's the last one for?"

"I want to have one in hand, just in case." Then I hug her, very tightly indeed, the way I should have a week ago. Look up over her shoulder and tell Mr Pond I'm not asking for permission, even, and he can say what he wants about it. He acts all selfless and gracious and I take it. Because Amy hugs back, and I've missed this. Funny how sometimes you don't notice you miss something until you feel it again.

Jessica is out of her tree again. That's not a euphemism, either. Just she's not so comfortable hovering over Erzuli as she was when it was Marie. She's down, lingering near us with a handful of ivory alligator trophies. Not sure how I feel about her taking trophies from those she has had a part in defeating. It implies things that cloud my feelings about her again.

I don't get much time to think about it, thankfully. With Marie apparently back under control, Legba comes to me. Just to head off any argument, I bow before he can congratulate me on victory, instead congratulating him on a battle well fought. Just because I've never liked all this bureaucracy and diplomacy doesn't mean I'm no good at it, you know. "You kept us from making a grave mistake here this morning, Doctor."

"You weren't to know," I allow. From behind him, Marie watches me, the look in her eyes a reminder that I didn't know a thing either.

"You, Doctor, have had your reward today in victory. But those who assisted you have had no thanks." He snaps his fingers and a Bwa'chech comes bowing forward, head hung low before the master. One hand is extended, and hanging from it are two leather strings. Pendant from them, little bundles, like corn dolls, of seared pig hair, each with a miniature iron key hanging from it. He takes these from the Bwa'chech and hands them to the Ponds. Either they're too stunned to say no or they've learned some small lesson about dealing with these red-tape sorts; they just accept them.

Legba, considering his job done, leaves without another word. He's embarrassed too, though it would be rude of me to comment on it. He almost destroyed a woman of true legend today. He wears his shame in his gifts, you see. From either side of me, the Ponds are easing in, thinking how to phrase the question. I wait for Legba to shamble out of earshot and say, "It's called a gris-gris, and you're very very privileged. It's good for one favour from a man who can do just about anything. I'd suggest you don't lose them."

They have more questions, but I have no answers that wouldn't just confuse them further. So in their quiet, I turn my head to the left and say bright, "Just you and me out on our own, then, Jessica." I'm not talking to anybody. "Where's Jessica?"

In the milling, uncertain crowd, all waiting to see what's going to happen to Erzuli, we crane about, trying to spot her. Rory, eventually, shouts, "There!" and points.

The Baron. He's beckoned her off into the still-night shadow of the trees. She stands dwarfed by him in purplish half-light. To my surprise, he actually goes down on one knee in front of her, to address her directly. Places his enormous hands on either side of her head, and for a terrible moment I feel like he's going to crush her. He doesn't, though; he's speaking to her. Either she's nodding or he's moving her head for her. By the time I can put a hand on her shoulder, he's finished. There's a bright blue orchid tucked behind her left ear. She stares at me.

"Oh, don't tell me this one's getting rewarded and all. Now I really do feel left out…"

The Baron stands up again, with easy grace. Head and shoulders taller than me too. "Why?" he smiles, and if he had eyes they would glitter, "You're getting what was for you, _Monsieur Docteur_."

"Doctor?" Pond is saying, somewhere out of frame on the left. "Doctor, what's happening? Doctor, look."

And first I thought she was talking about Erzuli, but she's not. She's talking about Jessica. She's not under my hand anymore, she's feet away, behind a tree, not looking at anything, and tugging at an earlobe. Between me and her, a scattering of alligator teeth, dropped and forgotten. I pick them up as I make my way towards her, only dimly aware of a rumbling chuckle from Old Uncle Baron as he rolls away.

From the other side of the tree, trying not to sneak up on her, I forget myself and softly call out, "Jessica?" And I'm shocked to see her flinch, towards the sound of my voice. Towards any sound at all. "Oh, he _didn't_," I breathe. I want to scream it right out at the Baron's back, but Jessica already looks terrified.

Of course she is. Every time she turns around, someone changes all the rules for her. And now it's all crashing in. She doesn't even know that that constant rasping noise that rushes in her ears and will not stop is her own breathing.

"Oh, he _didn't_! Everybody else gets blessings and this is what he gives me? Heaping trauma upon trauma for the more-trouble-than-she's-worth- -"

Rory's caught on, I think, and puts a hand on my arm. "Maybe you should be watching what you say now, if I'm thinking right?"

"Maybe in an hour or so, Rory, when she starts to make the connection between the moving lips and the talky noises. For now I intend to complain at least one of my pretty red hearts out!"

Not because I haven't been rewarded. I know that's what it sounds like, but that's not it. Because I can't imagine what it feels like to go through what Jessica's going through right now.

I _could_ complain, you know, I'm fully within my rights to do that. I could charge up to the Baron and demand that he _do_ something about this, and if he can do nothing that he give Jessica back the utter silence of her everyday. Could do all that. Watch Amy instead. Amy was doing well. Hadn't said anything at all, and had gone to Jessica, holding her, drawing her head in close. Only now she tries to tell her, 'It's alright', in the very lowest kind of hush, and Jessica shudders as if from a knife.

"We have to get her away from here, somewhere quiet."

"Not the Tardis then," Rory says. Turns away from her to say it and says it through his teeth. "What about Marie?"

I look over my shoulder. The crowd is regrouping. Closer to the tree this time. Close to Erzuli. I know what's going to happen and I want Jessica out of here before the screaming kicks off. "I think she'll probably hang about for the last bit."


	15. Chapter 15

An hour later we've managed to explain that most people live with what Jessica is now experiencing. Telling her over and over that it's perfectly normal, and feeling like hell for saying it. It's _not_ perfectly normal for Jessica. And she's getting to know our voices now. She struggled, at first, with the concept that all voices are different, but now she's picking it up. Her breathing has been explained, birdsong touched on, the rushing echo when she tries covering her ears.

I had hoped she might be intrigued by it all. There were distant hours, not long after we first met, when I'd had some romantic notion of her gratitude, of a childlike curiosity, a frantic and wondering rediscovery of the world in a whole new medium. I know now that this was wishful thinking, perhaps for myself as much as her. That would have been much more fun to be involved in.

That's not how it's happening. It's happening in the traumatised introverted way I hadn't much considered because I knew it would be this way.

Sound can come from behind her, by the way. I don't know if you've ever thought about that. After all, why would you? Of course sound can come from behind you, it's been doing it since the day you were born. The nurse was behind you when she slapped you, so why would it seem odd to you? Jessica's moment-to-moment worldview just gained those extra one-hundred-and-eighty degrees.

The knock at the Tardis door makes her gasp, and then shudder when she realizes the gasp was her.

Amy gets it. "It's Marie. Alive and standing up and knocking doors," she smiles.

"Hello, Marie."

"Hi," she says, not interested in me. Walks right past me to Jessica and takes her hand. "I know what you did. And I know what the Baron did for you too. I want to thank you and I want you to know that whatever you need, ever, you just call for me and I'll be there, _petite_, you understand?" No, she doesn't actually. Marie's speaking too quickly for her, and Jessica's eyes swim. Trying to follow the lips while the lips are matching up with the new noise. It's giving her a headache; I can watch it tighten in her brow. Marie gets it too. Eventually just pats the hand, leans in to kiss her forehead, then draws away.

"Ponds," I say, waving them in, "Take over with Jessica." They step in for me and I follow Marie back towards the door. "Of course, I had not a little to do with your continued existence."

I'm not fishing for favours, I'm really not, but it does rather seem that everyone around me is garnering blessings and need from every quarter and I'm lagging somewhat behind. It's not that I feel more or less worthy than anybody else, you understand, just _equally_ so, and unrecognized.

But Marie doesn't think so. Once we're outside in the pink, jasmine scented morning air, she turns on me, quite unexpectedly, "You're a liar."

"Beg pardon?"

"You were going to say guilty only Jessica intervened."

"What other choice did you give me?"

"I told you I had nothing to do with it."

"But nothing more than that. I had nothing to go on-"

"Except you don't trust me. This is what you do, you see, you let people get close and they do that thinking that you trust them, and then you take that away.

"Marie-"

"_Please_, Doctor, listen to what I'm trying to tell you-"

"No, _you_ listen to _me_. I came here to ask a favour of you. Which you wouldn't know about, so long has that favour been delayed, because I've been helping _you_! I'm meant to be here fixing the people I care about and all that's happened is-"

"More and more fracture, more and more hate, and all the wrong people getting all the best of it."

I stop, because how did she know I was going to say that?

"You and your wife have more in common than you think, don't you, _cher_?"

Give that a minute to sink in. What she's really saying. What she means by that, just give myself a little second to figure out what exactly all that means.

Then; "A _bit_? You did all this for a clever _bit_, nearly _died_ for a clever little bit of _business_ about the state of my marriage?" The first flash of her big mad smile since the accusations in the swamp burns bright on her face. "To prove a _point_! You're as mad as she is."

She shrugs, "You had a lesson to learn. You have to get what's coming to you, Doctor."

Funny, that's what the Baron said.

That's what they've all been saying, one way or another.

God, you'd think going back a hundred and fifty years would get you out of harm's way, but apparently not. Apparently whatever's coming for you is going to get you anyway. So there goes the old running-away-and-hiding-in-a-cave plan of action.

I think Marie knows I'm thinking all this. She goes on, "Speaking of what's coming. You won that favour off me, sir, and you asked for your palm read. Is that still what you want?" No. No, I don't want to know a scrap more than I already do. But then again, running-and-hiding was off, wasn't it? We covered that. And where I'm going knowledge might very well be the best shield. "Don't think of armour," she says, shutting her eyes. "They poisoned the armour they gave Hercules, don't think of armour."

So I tell her yes, that's still what I want. And Marie goes through all the usual warnings she's given me before. Reading the road ahead of one who travels in both time and space is patchy at best, fractal and confusing. Anything she'll be able to tell me will be cryptic, not necessarily in order. The burden of interpretation will rest entirely with me, and if I get it wrong it's nothing to do with Marie. All things I knew from before, from previous readings. All the same, hearing them puts a dizzy lightness in my heartbeats.

"Fine."

"Fine." But Marie doesn't close her eyes, doesn't even have to think about it. She's already done that. She must have read me a while ago, whether at the fire the first night or walking through the Quarter not hours ago. Got it all prepared and could have died before she told me. I use the sonic to record.

"You've come through so many forks to put you on this road, and now you have to be careful, because there are two more. Take the first towards the water and the second towards the tree. Then you'll come to the end and have nowhere else to go. But at every turn the _only_ thing you should ever be thinking of is the people you care about. They're what's going to make this or not."

No, sorry, Marie, it's too much. I'll listen to it later in pieces and then maybe I'll have a better chance but for now, I'll just nod and say nothing. All that cryptic and symbol and so forth, that can all hang on until I'm good and ready for it.

One thing I still need to ask before we go. "But where am I _going_?" She starts looking away again. Looking down at her feet again. I think, and am afraid of the very thought, of how I would feel if all that time, all through last night, it wasn't her own pending death she was contemplating, but whatever she read from me. Because she doesn't want to tell me, that much is clear.

I ask again.

Marie throws her arms around my neck. A gesture of comfort before the fact, perhaps, and it brings her close enough to whisper a horror story in my ear.

Parts of it I've heard before; from River and Soul and Prisoner Eighty-Four and the thief in Rory's head whose name I really must get Amy to remember. Parts of it I've guessed that. Parts of it I never could have. I've never had that kind of imagination.

"I'm sorry," she breathes at the end. She's crying too, even if she won't let me see it. "But the only road that I can read is the one you're on right now. And that's where you're going."

She's lying. She has to be lying.

"Rest assured," I tell her, "it will not be where I end up."

"Nothing would make me happier, _cher_, than to be wrong."

I am perhaps a little blunt in my goodbye to her. When the predicted end doesn't come I'll come back and apologize. Marie, I think, understands.

When I close myself back into the Tardis, I feel like thunder, and I know I must look just the same way. But no. That's not how this is going to play out. That's the wrong road and it's a road I will not travel, a way I will not go to an end I can't even think about.

I smile. It costs at first, then goes easier. I place myself between the Ponds, in front of Jessica. "Listen, you two, I'm sorry I brought you here. Let's have a proper holiday. Anywhere you want, anytime you want. And the first person to mention that the last time I said that I ended up getting punched by Humphrey Bogart may or may not get punched by the Doctor. And as for _you_," and here I take both of Jessica's hands and swing her round into my chair, a centrifugal little dance that whips the air out from around her ears and gives her a second's respite from all the perpetual little sounds that people with ears can't hear, "this is _my_ voice. You've been getting acquainted with Amy and Rory's voices. And now let's be having you, Jessicavoice. We'll soon see how natural this whole noise thing is. Then someone's going to try and explain Tardis noise so I can _laugh_ from the sidelines at the impressions they do."

The Ponds exchange a glance and Amy grins at me.

"_Somebody's_ in a better mood," she taunts.

"Yes, well, carpe the half-full diem and all that, Pond. _Optimism_, that's the key. A sunny disposition in all things."

I have another cliché, one I keep to myself; that we must make our hay while the sun shines. That we must smile and dance and charm while we all have the chance. Lest the day should come when good moods are a luxury we can no longer afford.

[_Fin_ once more, ladies and gents. I had such a good time trying a 'historical' episode and cannibalising nine kinds of voodoo and doing _intrigue_ and _prophecy_ and _pseudo-science_ and all those so-on and so-forth sorts of things. Hope y'all did too, _milords_. I've lost a few people, but I hope there are still enough of you out there for me to rattle on ahead. _C'est la vie_, I guess; we'll see where we end up.

(Here ends the author's desperate attempt to get all her extra scraps of Creole French in. I have failed miserably.)

Hearts anyhow,

Sal.]


	16. Future  Perfect  Tense  Preview

It is all so very brisk and beautiful. Cool but not cold, and the air sweet with dry grass and salt water. A slight breeze, but not enough to threaten in any way as I walk the edge of the chalk cliff. There's no sensation, even, of danger, of precariousness. I am safe and total.

And it's nice; all the rest has gone away except an easy ramble over this breathtaking place.

Ahead of me, where the cliff starts to fall away into the cove below, I pause for rest, sitting for a while on a boulder marked with the gouge lines of peoples long since gone and not forgotten, whole eras of the race sublimed and superseded over eons. Beyond, the sea, all grey and green and blue and going on forever and giving back the sky, and always moving and never moving, and a thousand perfect things.

I could stare at that forever.

Were it not, that is, for a little dark spot in the corner of my eye, like a mote of dust on the lens, too small to go unnoticed and big enough to spoil it all. Worse still when I look more closely at it, and think that perhaps very vaguely I recognize the shape of it.

It's not possible, you know; I checked. By all laws of physics and reality it cannot possibly be the shadow that I think it is. I made sure it couldn't, everywhere we've been I've been making sure, I've been checking and cross-referencing and in all things have I been certain that this shadow could not possibly appear.

Very quickly the tumbling cliff brings me down to the shore, and very quickly I make my way to that shape, resolving it into a person with every step closer. Into an impossibility.

"What are you doing here?"

And she tosses her head around to me to reply, shaking out her hair. And her smile, that's there. I could describe that too only I can't. "What kind of a greeting is that?"

River. I've moved worlds to keep her at bay since Soul revealed its plans.

No, seriously. Moved worlds. With gravity rays and unthinkable consequences for nearby moons. Uninhabited ones, of course. So far.

The point is, I have gone to great lengths not to see her, and believe me that has been an effort, and lo and behold but here she stands.

"_You_ were told to stay away."

She grins, "Exactly." Two possible explanations there; one, River's being incredibly snide about all my hard work, referencing her utter inability to follow _any_ instruction given by me. Or anybody else for that matter. Two, she chose this place to stand staring at the sea because she had absolutely no idea I might ever show up. I would like to believe Option Two like I trust her, I really, really would. Then she shrugs, looking helpless and some twisted River equivalent of innocent, and it doesn't matter, does it? It just doesn't. She says, "I'm here now," and I can't help but agree with the sentiment.

To hell with it, I'm glad. Until I saw her I could tell myself I didn't miss her, but I have. I have, and when she kisses me I hold onto her and I tell her I'm glad, that I'm so glad she's here. Part of me knows I'll have to send her away again, and leave her behind if she won't go. Part of me already stings for that. But mostly I'm glad to see her.

"I need to talk to you anyway," I tell her. She links her arm into mine and walks us closer to the tide-line.

"What about?"

"The fact that my own future seems to be snapping at my heels like a rabid dog? So to speak."

"Serious, grown-up conversation," River says, nodding gravely to herself. Then stops us, turns me to face her and holds me by the jacket, "I absolutely refuse."

"Please, River, not today."

"Until you do something for me, that is."

Much as I might want to be serious and sensible about things, her eyes are alight, and she doesn't change, doesn't pout, but smiles at me. "What?"

"Take your shoes off." She laughs when I suddenly take hold of her head and look very intently into her eyes. Looking for something dark and shifting that might have said that for her. "Soul's not in here, my love, it's just you and me. Any old feet will do for Soul. I want yours."

"Could you possibly try that again only slightly less sinister this time?"

"_Shoes_," and a playful shove, and so I humour her. Sit down in the sand and go about it.

"What's this in aid of?"

"Cheering you up," she groans first. "I mean _look_ at where you're hanging out!"

"It's beautiful! It's wild, untamed, natural… _beauty_."

"It's bleak."  
>"It's b-"<p>

"It's bleak, stop arguing." I stand up again then, with my shoes in one hand and present them to her. She takes them, then tosses them away over her shoulder. "Socks too."

"Honestly, River, this is very possibly the most controlled striptease in history."

"It would go a whole lot quicker if you'd _stop arguing_." There's a part of me that wants to be contrary and keep arguing just because she's telling me not to. She doesn't get to get away with that, part of me is saying. Another part is stinging in advance of future hurt and I shut up. To please her. Taking care of the people I care about. Good advice, that. "Right. Come on, then!" The arm wraps through mine again and tugs, pulling me towards the water. And it's cold, and the gooseflesh runs up my legs in great shudders and I pull back.

"What? I… Just… What?"

"You're going to make me be all grown up. And I won't stand for it until you've been properly childish." She tugs again, backing away to pull me after her. And it should be wonderful. It plays in my head and it would be, yes, fun. Sweet, childish, old-fashioned fun. She knows me well, this River of mine.

That fact stops me, along with one other.

I'm up to my ankles in frigid sea water. The cuffs of my trousers are dark with it, and it's creeping upward. Cold as anything. And the sand under the water is a fine, slippery silt that forms up close under my feet.

And I can see the little grains of sand clinging between my toes, too. By virtue of all of this, I should have that grating, gritty feeling around the toes, and my feet in their entirety should not only look wet, but feel wet. None of this has happened.

Terribly disconcerting to look down at water, to feel it moving around you, to know how cold it is, but to have no sensation of so much as a mild clamminess.

Which makes me wonder where I am, and where the Ponds are, and what the last real thing I remember is, and what exactly is standing in front of me, smiling, and beckoning me farther out to sea.


End file.
